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SUNNY  DAYS  IN  ITALY 


The  Milan  Cathedral 


SUNNY  DAYS  IN  ITALY 

il 


BY 

ELISE  LATHROP 


ILLUSTRATED  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 


NEW  YORK 
JAMES  POTT  &  CO. 
MCMVII 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
James  Pott  &  Co. 


First  impression,  September,  1907 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

Through  the  St.  Gothard  to  Milan.  A  cosmopolitan  pension. 

The  Milan  Cathedral  and  other  churches.  The  opera. 
Italian  railway  trains  .  ......  1 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  Italian  lakes  Como  ami  Maggiore.  The  operatic  appear¬ 
ance  of  Italian  working  people  .  .  .  .  .22 

CHAPTER  III. 

Genoa,  her  palaces  and  churches.  The  Campo  Santo.  Trips 
in  the  vicinity;  Pegli  and  Nervi.  Genoese  traits.  The 
cabmen  .........  37 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  two  Rivieras.  Santa  Margherita,  Portofino,  Rapallo, 
Alassio,  and  Finalmarina,  an  Italian  resort.  Taking  the 
baths.  Mountain  climbs  and  drives  .  .  .  .GO 

CHAPTER  V. 

Pisa.  Italian  home  life.  Pisan  sights.  The  Cathedral 
group.  Other  churches.  The  modest  Medici  family  .  73 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Italian  schools.  The  University  of  Pisa  and  the  students. 
Italian  women.  Business  prospects  of  young  Italian  men. 
Holidays.  An  opera  season.  Trips  near  Pisa  .  .  101 

[v] 


Eable  of  Contents 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PAGE 

Florence,  and  a  few  of  her  notable  sights.  The  galleries  and 
churches  .........  132 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Siena,  her  palaces  and  art  treasures.  The  Cathedral.  Her 
saint.  Orvieto:  the  Cathedral,  San  Patrizio’s  well,  Etrus¬ 
can  tombs  .........  152 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Rome  and  the  Romans.  The  great  galleries.  The  Vatican 
and  a  few  of  the  365  churches.  The  King  and  Queen  of 
Italy . 163 


CHAPTER  X. 

Holy  Week  in  Rome.  The  curious  ceremonies  .  .  .199 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Old  palaces  in  Rome.  The  Borghese  family.  Legend  of  the 
founding  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore.  The  Castello  Sant’ 
Angelo  ........  .  212 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Naples  and  the  Neapolitans.  Sights  of  the  city  and  trips  in 
the  vicinity.  Pozzuoli,  Pompeii,  Capri  and  Sorrento  .  223 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Perugia  and  Assisi.  St.  Francis  and  St.  Clara  .  .  .  256 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Bologna,  Ravenna  and  Padua 

[Vi] 


.  266 


liable  of  Contents 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Wonderful  Venice.  The  Palace  of  the  Doges  and  the  Prison. 
Famous  churches  and  the  Academy.  The  Armenian 
Monastery.  Murano,  Burano  and  Torcello.  A  Serenata. 


The  Lido . 279 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Verona  ..........  313 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  Milan  Cathedral  ..... 

Frontispiece 

PACING 

PAGE 

The  Castello,  Milan  ...... 

.  10 

Garden,  Isola  Bella,  Lake  Maggiore 

.  19 

Lake  Maggiore.  ...... 

.  26 

Isola  dei  Pescatori  ...... 

.  34 

A  Typical  Street  in  Genoa,  old  town 

.  42 

The  Promenade  by  the  Sea,  Nervi 

.  51 

The  Beach  at  Alassio  ..... 

.  66 

General  View  of  Finalmarina  .... 

.  72 

House  in  Pisa  where  Galileo  was  Born 

.  99 

Atrium  of  the  University  of  Pisa 

.  114 

The  Palazzo  Vecchio,  Florence  .... 

.  133 

The  Ponte  Vecchio,  Florence  .... 

.  144 

The  Well  of  San  Patrizio,  Orvieto 

.  154 

Etruscan  Tombs,  Orvieto  ..... 

.  163 

The  Aqueduct  of  Claudius,  Rome 

.  170 

The  Pincio  ....... 

.  178 

The  Madonna  of  San  Agostino 

.  186 

Ceiling  Decoration  by  Maccari  in  Senate  Chamber 

at  Rome  195 

The  Campo  dei  Fiori  ..... 

.  210 

The  Piazza  Navone  ...... 

.  227 

House  of  the  Faun,  Pompeii  .... 

[ix] 

.  242 

Hist  of  illustrations; 

PACING 

PAGE 

The  Marina  Grande,  Sorrento  ......  252 

The  Arch  of  Augustus,  Perugia  ......  259 

The  Portico  of  the  Temple  of  Minerva,  Assisi  .  .  264 

Tomb  of  Theodoric,  Ravenna  ......  274 

San  Apollinare  in  Classe  .......  277 

A  Typical  Side  Canal,  Venice  ......  288 

The  Public  Gardens,  Venice,  with  Campanile  of  San  Giorgio 

in  the  Distance  ........  291 

Fragment  of  the  Arena,  Verona  .....  306 


M 


PREFACE 


SO  many  and  such  excellent  books  upon  that 
fascinating  land,  Italy,  have  been  written 
that  it  may  seem  effrontery  to  offer  another. 
Yet  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  none  of  the  books  on 
Italy  that  I  have  read  have  treated  the  country, 
whose  charm  few  escape,  and  her  courteous  people 
in  quite  the  same  manner  as  the  present  volume. 
In  travelling  in  Italy  it  has  too,  always  been  my 
endeavour  to  mingle  as  much  as  possible  with  Ital¬ 
ians,  to  discuss  with  them  their  institutions  and 
modes  of  life,  to  learn  their  opinions,  and  also  to 
see  as  much  of  truly  Italian  life  as  distinguished 
from  the  cosmopolitan  side  usually  presented  to 
the  tourist,  as  is  possible  for  the  foreigner.  If  I 
have  succeeded  in  portraying  anything  of  this  side 
in  these  pages  I  have  accomplished  my  purpose. 

A  portion  of  Chapter  X.  dealing  with  the  Holy 
Week  ceremonies  in  Rome,  appeared  several  years 
ago  as  a  separate  article  in  Vogue,  and  is  included 
here  by  permission  of  the  publishers  of  that 
magazine. 

To  the  many  kind  Italians  whose  courtesy  has 
largely  contributed  towards  making  these  journey- 
ings  pleasant,  this  book  is  affectionately  dedicated. 


[xi] 


/ 


SUNNY  DAYS  IN  ITALY 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  traveller  visiting  Italy  for  the  first  time 
usually  approaches  that  fair  country  from 
the  north,  and  there  are  many  reasons  why 
this  is  the  most  satisfactory  plan.  In  this  way, 
one’s  journey  presents  a  veritable  crescendo  of 
beauty,  of  the  picturesque.  Then,  too,  as  the 
northern  Italians  differ  greatly  from  their  southern 
brethren,  as  the  north  is  far  more  progressive, 
more  pervaded  with  the  modern,  up-to-date  spirit, 
the  change  from  former  habits  is  less  pronounced, 
less  adaptability  is  required  in  the  traveller,  and,  in 
consequence,  there  is  less  grumbling,  fault-finding 
and  dissatisfaction.  When  one  has  felt  the  charm 
of  Italy,  has  learned  to  love  it  for  itself,  it  matters 
not  from  what  direction  one  approaches  it ;  unpleas¬ 
ant  features  are  overlooked,  or,  for  the  enthusiast, 
no  longer  exist. 

Of  the  various  railway  routes  into  Italy,  that 
through  the  St.  Gothard  has  always  been  deservedly 
popular.  Every  mile  of  the  trip  is  beautiful,  save 
for  the  tunnel  itself,  and  the  discomforts  of  that 
portion  are  trifling.  Starting  from  Lucerne,  the 
little  lake  steamers  afford  a  delightful  three  hours’ 

[1] 


iffltlan  anb 


sail  on  the  Lake  of  the  Four  Cantons  to  Fluelen, 
an  agreeable  variation  upon  the  mere  railway  route. 
Immediately  after  the  railway  station  of  Goe- 
schenen,  with  its  view  of  a  glacier,  one  enters  the 
tunnel.  In  about  twenty  minutes  the  train  emerges, 
and,  from  that  time  on,  for  nearly  two  hours,  is 
constantly  ascending,  passing  through  many  short 
tunnels.  There  are  constant  glimpses  of  high 
waterfalls,  dashing  down  the  mountainsides,  or  of 
convents  or  chapels,  perched  quite  isolated  on  some 
steep  rock;  sometimes  glancing  out  of  the  window 
one  sees  below  the  three  or  four  tiers  of  railway 
track,  marking  the  ascent  made. 

Then  the  descent  begins,  and  one  enters  the 
Italian  Switzerland.  Chestnut  trees  in  abundance, 
and  green,  peaceful  valleys  gradually  replace  the 
bold,  bare  mountains.  Here  I  caught  my  first 
glimpse  of  the  Italian  lakes,  first,  the  northern  end 
of  Lake  Maggiore,  and  then  the  train  runs  close  to 
the  shore  of  Lake  Lugano,  very  blue  in  the  sunset, 
with  a  beautiful  pinkish  glow  on  the  mountains 
beyond.  Crossing  one  arm,  Chiasso,  the  Italian 
frontier  is  reached. 

Here  the  customs  formalities  are  brief,  but  all 
bound  for  Italian  points  change  cars,  and  then  I 
saw  my  first  Italian  train,  with  comfortable,  vesti- 
buled  corridor  coaches,  lighted  by  electricity.  We 
skirted  the  Lake  of  Como,  after  which  we  ran 
through  a  peaceful  farming  country  until  Milan 
was  reached  in  the  early  evening.  The  brightly 

[2] 


Jfirsit  Smpresisiionjs 


lighted  station,  with  waiting  cabs  and  omnibuses, 
and  an  electric  tram  line  close  by,  with  clanging 
bells,  seemed  little  different  from  a  railway  station 
at  home,  save  that  it  is  decorated  with  fine  frescoes 
by  well-known  artists,  and  the  voices  of  cabmen  and 
porters  are  soft  and  musical. 

The  pension  at  which  I  stayed  on  my  first  visit 
to  Milan  no  longer  exists  in  its  then  interesting 
state,  having  since  been  removed  to  a  modern  build¬ 
ing.  Then  one  climbed  three  long  flights  of  stairs 
which  turned  around  three  sides  of  a  court-like 
opening  extending  to  the  roof,  the  various  landings 
constituting  the  fourth  side.  This  opening,  as  I 
afterwards  discovered,  was  utilized  by  the  different 
tenants’  servants  to  shake  rugs  down.  Early  in 
the  morning  it  was  not  pleasant  to  go  up  and  down 
the  stairs — lift  there  was  none — because  of  the 
clouds  of  dust.  Presumably  the  portiere ,  a  more 
important  personage  than  the  American  janitor, 
occasionally  cleaned  the  floor  of  the  basement  where 
the  dust  finally  lodged.  The  plan  of  the  building 
was  quite  the  usual  one  in  Milan.  The  outer  door 
was  closed  at  ten  o’clock  in  the  evening  by  great 
wooden  doors,  and  woe  to  those  who  forgot  their 
night  keys,  for  it  would  be  most  difficult  to  arouse 
the  portiere  in  his  remote  quarters.  Upon  opening 
the  door,  one  entered  a  perfectly  dark  hall,  and 
groped  his  way  up  the  stairs  in  equal  darkness 
unless  he  had  been  warned  to  provide  himself  with 
a  box  of  matches,  for  other  lights  there  were  none. 

[3] 


Jtltlan  anli 


Signorina  B.,  my  landlady,  was  polite  as  only 
Italians  can  be.  She  listened  to  my  faltering  Ital¬ 
ian  without  flinching,  and,  to  my  joy,  even  under¬ 
stood  it.  Of  course  she  assured  me  that  I  spoke 
Italian  very  well,  for  Italians  always  encourage  the 
foreigner  who  is  mutilating  their  beautiful  lan¬ 
guage,  and  never,  by  the  slightest  sign,  let  him 
guess  the  awful  havoc  he  may  be  making  of  double 
consonants  and  accents.  Signorina  B.  was  always 
ready  with  assistance  or  information  for  the  stran¬ 
ger,  never  seemed  flurried  or  out  of  temper,  yet 
had  a  large  household,  rose  almost  with  the  pro¬ 
verbial  lark,  and  superintended  everything  her¬ 
self. 

At  the  first  luncheon  in  her  house  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  polenta,  almost  the  same  as  boiled 
mush,  and  discovered  the  polyglot  nature  of  the 
household.  English,  French,  German,  Spanish, 
Polish  and  Italian  were  all  spoken  at  the  table,  and 
frequently  one’s  right-hand  neighbour  addressed 
one  in  a  diff erent  language  from  the  person  at  the 
left,  while  opposite  a  third  one  was  used. 

The  English  and  Germans  were  chiefly  tourists, 
devoting  two  or  three  days  to  Milan — few  people 
seem  to  think  it  deserving  of  a  longer  stay,  and  on 
subsequent  visits  I  heard  of  large  parties  of  tour¬ 
ists,  usually  Americans,  who  arranged  to  arrive  in 
Milan  in  the  morning,  “  do  ”  the  Leonardo  da 
Vinci  “  Last  Supper  ”  and  a  church  or  two  in  the 
morning,  take  lunch  at  a  pension  facing  the  Cathe- 

[4] 


Jftrst  Umpresisitong 

dral,  thus  “  doing  ”  it  as  they  sat  at  luncheon,  and 
depart  on  an  afternoon  train  quite  content  that 
they  had  seen  Milan.  But  at  this  season  the  tour¬ 
ists  were  lessening  in  numbers,  and  the  Americans 
and  people  of  other  nationalities  were  principally 
singers  in  search  of  operatic  engagements,  for 
which  Milan  is  the  great  centre,  and  this  house  was 
a  well-known  resort. 

On  my  first  afternoon  in  Milan  I  caught  my  first 
glimpse  of  the  wonderful  cathedral,  to  me  by  far 
the  most  beautiful  in  Italy.  Walking  along  a  nar¬ 
row  street  lined  with  shops,  with  straight  curtains 
of  canvas  hanging  down  to  the  sidewalk  from  pro¬ 
jecting  roof,  or  in  doors  and  windows,  instead  of 
awnings  of  the  usual  pattern,  suddenly  turning  a 
corner,  I  found  myself  in  the  Piazza  del  Duomo, 
with  its  fine  equestrian  statue  of  King  Victor 
Emanuel  II.  in  the  centre.  On  the  farther  side  rose 
the  beautiful  building.  Only  a  poet  should  describe 
it,  its  hundreds  of  minarets,  all  crowned  with  exqui¬ 
site  statues,  its  gleaming  whiteness,  or  even  the 
somewhat  blackened  facade,  that  facade  which 
seems  destined  never  to  be  completed,  for  it  lias  so 
often  been  changed.  The  marble  for  this  cathedral 
was  brought  from  the  vicinity  of  Lake  Maggiore, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  construct  a  special  canal  to 
bring  it  to  Milan.  Can  dimensions  aid  one  to  form 
a  picture  of  it,  or  to  be  told  that  there  are  128  mina¬ 
rets  and  more  than  2,000  statues?  Some  complain 
that  the  absence  of  one  or  more  lofty  spires  detracts 

[5] 


iWtlatt  aitb 


from  its  impressiveness.  The  tower  is  at  the  back, 
and  adds  but  little  height  to  the  appearance.  None 
able  to  climb  the  long  winding  stairs  to  the  roof 
ought  to  fail  to  do  so.  One  may  go  in  the  morning, 
but  not  alone.  This  rule  is  made  as  a  supposed 
precaution  against  suicide,  a  favourite  manner  for 
this  with  Italians,  being,  on  their  own  testimony, 
that  of  throwing  oneself  from  a  high  building. 
Still  the  solitary  tourist  can  arrange  with  the 
friendly  custodian  of  the  doorway  to  consider  him 
one  of  some  other  party,  and  allow  him  to  pass 
through.  Up  on  the  white  marble  roof  one  may 
walk  about  and  examine  the  statues  at  close  range, 
while  perhaps  the  music  of  organ  and  choristers 
floats  faintly  up  and  out  through  high,  opened  win¬ 
dow.  If  one  pushes  on  to  the  summit  of  the  tower, 
one  is  rewarded,  if  the  day  be  fine,  by  a  view  of  the 
entire  city,  the  plains  of  Lombardy,  the  towers  of 
Novara,  and  Pavia,  and  its  famous  Chartreuse 
monastery;  while  in  the  distance  may  be  seen  Mt. 
Blanc,  Mt.  Cenis,  the  Simplon,  St.  Gothard,  and 
many  other  peaks. 

Entering  the  cathedral  by  one  of  the  five  doors 
in  the  front,  there  is  much  to  attract  attention  in 
the  church  itself.  Four  rows  of  dark  granite  col¬ 
umns  support  the  roof.  As  one  gazes  up  at  the 
lofty  ceiling  it  seems  to  be  an  elaborate  lacework  of 
marble,  but  it  is  merely  wood  painted  to  resemble  it. 
The  effect  of  the  interior  is  overpowering.  It  is 
so  vast,  so  lofty,  and  the  light  falls  faintly  through 

[6] 


Jfirsit  Smpres&umg 


stained  glass  windows  of  the  richest  dark  colours, 
casting  many-hued  reflections  on  marble  altars  and 
statues.  High  up  above  the  main  altar  hangs  a 
great  golden  cross,  where  almost  the  last  ray  of 
light  will  be  caught  by  it.  At  first  it  is  impossible 
to  examine  details.  One  comes  again  and  again, 
and  revels  in  the  colour,  the  dim  light,  the  silence 
and  solitude,  hardly  broken  by  a  stray  figure  on 
her  knees  at  a  side  altar,  or  some  workman  entering 
reverently,  cap  in  hand,  to  say  a  brief  prayer. 
Even  when  a  service  is  being  held,  and  the  wor¬ 
shippers  enter,  pay  the  trifling  sum  to  the  old  man 
or  woman  in  charge  of  chairs,  placing  them  then 
where  they  wish,  the  little  group,  save  on  some  holi¬ 
day,  is  but  a  speck  in  the  great  interior,  and  one  is 
at  liberty  to  wander  up  and  down  the  side  aisles,  or 
in  the  transepts,  examining  the  ancient  tombs,  the 
tablets  engraved  with  the  apostolic  succession  of 
bishops  down  to  the  present  Bishop  of  Milan,  or 
the  numerous  altars,  while  the  music  of  the  fine 
organ  and  choir  adds  another  charm. 

One  of  the  altars,  the  supposed  wonder-working 
Madonna  of  the  Snow,  portrayed  in  a  has  relief, 
was  the  cause  of  a  heated  discussion  a  dozen  years 
ago.  Some  maintained  that  the  Madonna  was  not 
satisfied  with  her  place  in  the  left  nave,  so  the  relief 
and  altar  were  removed  to  the  present  position  in 
the  right  nave,  with  this  inscription:  “  Ed  ora  sci 
contenta?  ”  (And  now  art  thou  content?)  Up  to 
the  present  tune  at  least,  there  seems  to  have  been 

[7] 


Jffltlan  anb 


no  manifestation  of  dissatisfaction.  It  affords  an 
instance  of  the  familiarity  which  does  not  neces¬ 
sarily  mean  contempt,  with  which  the  Italian,  espe¬ 
cially  of  the  lower  classes,  treats  his  saints. 

These  altars  give  one  the  first,  and,  alas,  not  the 
last  feeling  of  discontent  with  Italian  church  in¬ 
teriors.  Around  the  statues  of  Madonna  and 
Child,  and  of  saints  hang  votive  offerings.  If  the 
giver  be  wealthy,  these  may  be  handsome  jewels, 
but  in  the  majority  of  cases  they  are  brought  by 
the  poor,  and  consist  of  large  silver  tinsel  medals 
with  fringe  or  filagree  borders.  To  add  to  the  dis¬ 
figurement,  great  bunches  of  the  gaudiest  artificial 
flowers  deck  the  altars,  sometimes  flat  cardboard 
horrors,  like  flowers  on  the  cheapest  and  ugliest  of 
Christmas  cards. 

The  tombs  are  devoted  impartially  to  guarding 
the  ashes  of  saint  or  sinner.  One  to  the  memory  of 
Giacomo  di  Medici,  a  pirate  on  the  Lake  of  Como, 
and  that  of  his  brother  Gabriel,  was  erected  by  their 
brother,  Pope  Pius  IV. 

There  are  few  pictures  in  this  cathedral,  but 
many  statues.  One  particularly  horrible,  though 
remarkable,  represents  St.  Bartholomew,  after 
having  been  flayed  alive,  carrying  his  own  skin  on 
his  shoulders.  The  muscles  are  all  in  evidence,  and 
the  effect  is  dreadful.  Upon  this  statue  its  author 
modestly  inscribed :  “  Non  me  Praxiteles  sed  Mar¬ 
cus  pinxit  Agrafes ."  In  the  opposite  transept  is  a 
candelabra  in  bronze,  nearly  seventeen  feet  high, 

[8] 


Jftrsrt  Smpres&ions; 


in  the  form  of  a  tree  with  seven  branches,  holding 
twenty-eight  candles.  It  is  a  beautiful  piece  of 
work,  with  its  monsters  around  the  base,  inter¬ 
spersed  with  figures  from  the  Old  Testament. 

As  one  leaves  the  cathedral,  on  the  right-hand 
side  of  the  Piazza,  lined  on  the  other  three  sides  by 
shops,  is  one  entrance  to  the  Galleria  Vittorio 
Emanuele.  This  handsome  building  is  in  the  form 
of  a  cross,  whose  two  arms  unite  in  an  octagon  sur¬ 
mounted  by  a  dome,  beneath  which  in  the  lunettes 
are  fine  frescoes.  Broad  promenades  covered  by 
a  glass  roof  lead  to  the  ends  of  the  cross,  while  on 
either  side  are  four-storied  buildings  containing 
fine  shops,  offices  and  caffes.  Through  this  build¬ 
ing  is  the  favourite  promenade  for  the  Milanese 
and  foreigners,  although  Italian  ladies  would 
hardly  walk  there  unattended  by  a  man.  Men 
gather  in  numbers  at  the  little  tables  outside  these 
caffes — although  family  groups  are  often  seen 
there  as  well— and  stare  unabashedly  at  the  passing 
women.  Even  two  foreign  women  may  find  it 
annoying  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  their  gaze.  The 
shops  are  fascinating,  and  some  of  their  proprie¬ 
tors  do  not  hesitate  to  ask  more  than  they  are  will¬ 
ing  to  take,  though  to  one  newly  arrived  in  Italy 
the  prices  may  seem  reasonable  enough.  Outside 
the  galleries  the  same  goods  are  often  much 
cheaper.  But  in  northern  Italy,  at  least,  fixed 
prices  are  becoming  more  and  more  common,  espe¬ 
cially  in  the  first-class  establisliments. 

[9] 


Jffltlan  anti 


For  the  tourist  in  search  of  the  picturesque, 
Milan  is  too  modern,  with  its  clanging  electric 
trams  running  in  all  directions  from  the  Piazza  del 
Duomo  as  a  centre,  and  carrying  one  wherever  he 
wishes  to  go  for  the  equivalent  of  an  English 
penny  (ten  centesimi) .  The  sidewalks  are  so  nar¬ 
row  for  the  most  part  that  it  is  difficult  for  two 
people  to  walk  abreast,  save  in  the  new  portion  of 
the  city,  and  one  soon  follows  the  habit  of  Italians, 
and  takes  to  the  middle  of  the  street ;  still  the  build¬ 
ings  are  not  quaint,  and  if  this  is  one’s  first  glimpse 
of  Italy  one  is  apt  to  be  disappointed.  Yet  there 
are  many  interesting  sights.  The  old  churches  may 
occupy  one  for  many  a  day;  there  is  the  ruined 
Castello,  once  the  home  of  the  great  Sforza  family, 
the  scene  of  many  brave  and  dark  deeds,  of  sieges 
victorious  or  otherwise.  It  is  now  being  restored 
by  an  enlightened  and  liberal  municipality,  since 
otherwise  soon  but  little  would  have  remained  of  it. 
Unfortunately,  however  closely  the  old  plan  is  fol¬ 
lowed,  the  modern  brick  walls  at  present  detract 
sadly  from  former  picturesque  beauty,  but  in  time 
the  glaring  newness  will  be  toned  down.  The  re¬ 
mains  of  moat  and  drawbridge  may  still  interest 
one.  The  picture  gallery  of  this  Castello  is  not  re¬ 
markable,  but  among  the  archaeological  collections 
are  many  interesting  fragments  of  ancient  sculp¬ 
ture,  some  belonging  originally  to  the  cathedral, 
before  its  partial  destruction  by  fire,  and  which  are 
now  replaced  by  more  modern  ones.  Those  anx- 

[10] 


The  Castello,  Milan 


jfinrt  5mprcfis;iong 

ious  to  improve  their  Italian  will  do  well  to  permit 
one  of  the  custodians  to  accompany  them,  and  point 
out  the  objects  of  especial  interest.  It  is  better  than 
the  average  Italian  lesson  to  listen  to  them.  They 
speak  very  slowly  and  distinctly,  in  their  soft 
voices,  and  take  pains  to  make  themselves  easily 
understood.  Almost  all  the  guides  and  custodians 
of  galleries  and  public  monuments  in  Italy  speak 
French  well,  many  a  little  English  or  German,  but 
I  fancied  that  they  took  much  more  interest  in  ex¬ 
plaining  if  I  encouraged  them  to  speak  Italian.  If 
the  galleries  are  not  crowded,  they  give  far  more 
than  the  usual  guide-book  information.  After  I 
had  seen  everything  else,  my  custodian  took  me  into 
a  room  in  the  castle  which  had  then,  in  1902,  but 
recently  been  thrown  open  to  the  public,  and  Avhich 
tourists  now  often  miss  seeing.  Until  a  few  years 
ago  it  was  a  square,  bare,  whitewashed  room,  for¬ 
merly  a  part  of  the  barracks  which  have  been 
Austrian,  French  and  Italian  in  turn.  One  of  the 
committee  of  gentlemen  in  Milan  superintending 
the  restorations  of  the  castle,  became  deeply  in¬ 
terested  in  the  work,  and  after  poring  over  old 
documents  and  manuscripts  relating  to  this  build¬ 
ing,  was  convinced  that  this  particular  room  held 
a  treasure.  Careful  experiments  in  removing  the 
whitewash  which  covered  walls  and  ceiling,  proved 
how  correct  was  his  surmise,  and  to-day  ceiling  and 
walls  to  a  distance  of  some  six  or  eight  feet  from 
the  ceiling  down,  stand  a  work  of  art,  believed  to 

[11] 


jWtlan  anb 


be  another  monument  to  Milan’s  great  engineer, 
poet,  sculptor  and  painter,  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 
Against  a  blue  background  chestnut  trees  grow  up 
to  the  ceiling,  on  which  their  foliage  is  interlaced 
and  closely  massed,  with  mere  glimpses  of  the  blue 
sky  background.  A  few  touches  of  gold  relieve 
the  green,  and  the  arms  of  the  Sforza  family  are 
painted  on  the  four  sides  of  the  ceiling.  This  is 
believed  to  be  the  design  of  Da  Vinci,  and  executed 
by  his  pupils,  under  his  supervision.  After  realiz¬ 
ing  how  nearly  this  work  was  lost,  after  gazing  at 
the  mutilated  “  Last  Supper,”  it  is  hard  to  under¬ 
stand  how  anyone,  especially  the  beauty-loving 
French,  could  have  been  so  barbarous  as  to  efface 
such  beauty. 

Leaving  the  castle,  the  beautiful  Arch  of  Peace 
rises  at  the  edge  of  the  park  beyond.  After  having 
been  destined  to  honour  various  sovereigns,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  vicissitudes  of  Milanese  fortunes,  it  is 
now  a  fine  structure,  with  subjects  to  suit  all  par¬ 
ties  and  countries  among  its  sculptured  ornaments. 

Although  at  that  time  too  unfamiliar  with  Italy 
to  remark  upon  it,  I  afterwards  realized  how  few 
beggars  I  saw  during  my  visits  to  Milan’s  many 
churches. 

September  is  a  poor  time  of  the  year  in  which  to 
hear  music  in  Milan.  La  Scala,  her  famous  opera 
house,  does  not  open  until  the  winter.  One  evening 
we  went  to  hear  "  Trovatore  ”  in  a  popular  priced 
theatre.  It  was  very  new,  glaringly  lighted,  and 

[12] 


Jftrsft  Smpressiujnfii 


we  paid  three  lire  or  francs  for  orchestra  chairs. 
The  rate  per  seat  for  the  first  row  of  encircling 
boxes  was  a  trifle  higher,  that  in  the  second  and 
third  rows  less,  while  there  was  a  top  gallery  where 
seats  cost  but  half  a  franc.  The  charge  for  admis¬ 
sion  in  Italy  is  almost  always  a  fixed  sum,  with  an 
extra  charge  for  seats  according  to  location.  Thus 
if  one  takes  a  box,  admissions  must  be  bought  sepa¬ 
rately  in  addition.  The  floor  of  the  orchestra  in 
this  theatre  was  perfectly  level,  the  lights  were  not 
lowered  during  the  performance,  and  the  men 
smoked  continuously  if  so  disposed,  as  is  the  case 
in  the  parquet  of  almost  all  Italian  opera  houses — - 
during  the  present  winter  of  1907  it  has  been 
abolished  in  La  Scala.  For  orchestra,  there  was  a 
strident  brass  hand,  costumes  were  of  the  cheapest, 
the  performers  hopelessly  ordinary,  with  the  ex¬ 
ception  of  the  contralto,  an  American,  who  was  far 
above  her  surroundings,  and  has  since  won  an  envi¬ 
able  reputation  in  her  own  and  foreign  countries. 
Yet  encores  were  freely  bestowed  upon  the  other 
singers,  and  not  until  the  contralto  had  positively 
compelled  admiration  by  her  fine  acting  as  well  as 
singing,  was  she  tardily  applauded  heartily.  This 
was  my  first  intimation  of  what  I  afterwards  found 
to  be  a  fact:  that  the  foreign  singer  has  to  contend 
against  strong  prejudice  in  Italy,  as  well  as  in 
other  countries.  Italian  voices,  especially  those  of 
the  women,  are  no  longer  what  they  once  were, 
partly,  they  sav,  from  lack  of  study,  and  there  is 

[13] 


much  jealousy  of  foreigners  with  better  voices  than 
the  native  singer. 

This  lack  of  study  on  the  part  of  the  Italian 
opera  singer  of  the  present  day  was  startlingly 
illustrated  later,  at  another  operatic  performance. 
Fanny  Torresella,  a  well-known  artist,  came  to  the 
Filodramrnatico,  the  opera  house  next  in  standing 
to  La  Scala,  for  a  short  season,  giving  the  old  opera, 
" I  Puritani  ”  We  went  to  hear  her,  and  this  time 
had  parquet  chairs  for  four  francs.  The  orches¬ 
tra,  though  noisy,  was  much  better  than  at  the  other 
theatre,  but  here,  too,  no  lights  wTere  lowered  dur¬ 
ing  the  performance.  The  company  was  fairly 
good,  but  early  in  the  evening  the  baritone  dis¬ 
pleased  the  audience,  and  was  persistently  laughed 
at  during  the  entire  opera.  He  had  a  small  voice, 
neither  his  singing  nor  acting  was  really  bad,  he 
was  merely  mediocre,  but  every  time  he  opened  his 
mouth  the  audience  tittered.  It  might  have  been 
much  worse,  as  those  familiar  with  Italian  audi¬ 
ences  know.  He  might  have  been  hissed,  pelted,  or 
greeted  with  cat-calls.  He  persisted  bravely  under 
these  trying  circumstances.  The  prima  donna  exe¬ 
cuted  the  difficult,  old-fashioned  music  with  ease 
and  brilliancy,  but  surely  outside  of  Italy  the  tenor 
would  have  been  impossible.  Not  that  he  was  so 
bad;  on  the  contrary,  his  voice  was  wonderfully 
sweet  and  pure,  but  only  three  months  before  this 
evening,  he  had  been  a  cobbler,  singing  over  his 
work.  He  was  awkward  and  extremely  ill  at  ease, 

[14] 


Jfirsit  Smjpressions 


the  experienced  soprano  had  fairly  to  drag  him 
around  the  stage,  to  make  love  to  him,  since  he  was 
far  too  embarrassed  to  attempt  making  love  to  her 
at  the  proper  times.  But  those  who  know  the  very 
difficult  score  of  this  opera  of  Bellini,  those  familiar 
with  the  coloratura  passages  which  he  sang  well, 
will  agree  that  no  other  country  but  Italy,  the 
famous  “  land  of  song,”  could  produce  a  tenor 
capable  of  singing  such  a  role  after  but  three 
months  of  study.  The  audience  was  at  first  in¬ 
clined  to  be  amused,  for  he  was  a  droll  figure,  very 
tiny,  his  hands  encased  in  white  gloves  which  were 
evidently  a  source  of  much  worry  to  him,  but  his 
singing  soon  won  them,  and  when  the  famous  high 
D  of  the  role,  a  note  for  which  every  Italian  in  the 
house  was  waiting — woe  betide  him  had  he  omitted 
it! — rang  out  clear  and  true,  the  envy  of  all  singers 
in  the  audience,  they  burst  into  frantic  applause. 
When  they  are  pleased,  Italian  audiences  are  wildly 
enthusiastic,  and  encores  are  an  absolute  necessity, 
though  here,  too,  7>«  Scala  has  set  an  example  of 
reform  in  forbidding  them.  Italians  are  not  as 
dependent  as  we  are  upon  stage  settings  to  pre¬ 
serve  an  illusion.  If  a  scene  is  to  be  shifted  from 
out  of  doors  to  an  interior,  wings  are  often  drawn 
back  in  full  view  of  the  audience,  men  in  the  theatre 
livery  march  on  the  stage  bearing  tables  and  chairs, 
and  when  all  is  ready  the  opera  proceeds. 

I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  have  been  excep¬ 
tionally  fortunate,  but  I  cannot  agree  with  the 

[15] 


JfflUan  anb 


statements  so  frequently  made  in  regard  to  luggage 
in  Italy.  After  repeatedly  travelling  almost  all 
over  the  peninsula,  after  sending  luggage  by  grand 
vitesse,  by  petit  vitesse,  taking  it  with  me  on  trains, 
and  leaving  it  for  days  at  a  time  in  stations,  I  have 
never  missed  anything  from  contents  of  trunks  or 
valises,  have  never  seen  any  evidence  of  its  having 
been  tampered  with.  Undoubtedly  there  must 
at  some  time  have  been  foundation  for  these  state¬ 
ments,  possibly  such  things  do  occur  now,  but  they 
have  never  happened  to  me  or  to  friends  with  whom 
I  have  discussed  the  matter.  Grand  vitesse  appears 
to  me  somewhat  slower  in  Italy  than  slow  freight 
with  us,  and  what  petit  vitesse  may  be  I  for  one 
have  no  desire  to  learn  through  personal  experience, 
but  one  can  always  send  luggage  as  such  pure  and 
simple,  without  accompanying  it  on  the  same  train, 
or  even  the  necessity  for  showing  a  railway  ticket 
to  the  same  destination;  a  great  convenience  when 
there  are  several  routes  to  the  same  place,  and  a 
roundabout  one  with  stops  over  is  preferable  for 
the  passenger.  I  have  found  Italian  servants  in 
pensions  and  hotels  quite  generally  honest,  and 
surely  this  would  be  as  much  as  any  country  could 
boast. 

An  early  discovery  in  Milan  was  a  startling  one. 
It  was  odd  to  learn  that  even  a  woman  may  walk 
boldly  into  a  tobacco  shop,  with  sometimes  a  bar 
in  connection,  and  purchase  postage  stamps.  One 
may  certainly  go  to  the  Post  Office  for  this  purpose, 

[16] 


Jf irsit  Smpresstonsi 


but  that  is  often  remote,  and  these  shops  are  a  sub¬ 
stitute  for  branch  post  offices.  Here  letters  or  par¬ 
cels  may  be  weighed,  and  sometimes  they  may  be 
registered  as  well. 

How  one  can  believe  that  Milan  may  be  seen  in 
two  days  it  is  difficult  to  understand.  The  Campo 
Santo,  or  cemetery,  deserves  a  visit.  It  contains 
some  beautiful  monuments,  and  on  the  way  there 
one  sees  the  pretty  promenade  laid  out  on  top  of  the 
old  earthworks  of  the  city.  Beside  the  cathedral 
and  many  churches,  all  interesting  for  one  reason 
or  another,  is  the  remarkable  Brera  Gallery,  with 
its  celebrated  “  Betrothal  of  the  Virgin,”  by  Ra¬ 
phael,  its  paintings  by  Titian  and  Veronese,  the 
Luini  frescoes,  in  short,  examples  of  all  the  old 
masters;  the  Ambrosian  Library,  with  its  illumi¬ 
nated  manuscripts  and  small  picture  gallery.  In 
the  latter  are  Raphael’s  cartoon  for  the  “  School 
of  Athens,”  and  two  wonderful  little  groups,  mar¬ 
vels  of  wood  carving,  Brostoloni’s  “  Beggars.” 
The  Poldi-Pezzoli  Museum,  formerly  a  private 
house  and  collection,  left  by  its  former  owner  to 
the  city,  is  another  interesting  sight.  The  Royal 
Palace,  save  for  the  beautiful  Giotto  tower  quite 
a  modern  structure,  since  it  is  not  quite  one  hundred 
and  fifty  years  old,  is  open  to  the  public  on  certain 
days.  There  are  a  few  good  pictures  here,  includ¬ 
ing  a  very  lovely  portrait  of  Queen  Margherita,  and 
one  is  escorted  through  suites  of  rooms  in  which, 
remembering  what  one  is  told  of  the  cold  Milanese 

[17] 


iWtlan  anb 


winters,  it  is  hard  to  see  how  royalty  can  be  kept 
warm  during  its  visits  at  that  season.  The  great 
Hall  of  Caryatides  is  magnificent.  F orty-two  mar¬ 
ble  caryatides  sustain  the  balcony  which  runs 
around  the  room,  the  ceiling  is  gorgeously  frescoed, 
and  huge  crystal  chandeliers  holding  three  thou¬ 
sand  candles  illuminate  it  when  it  is  used  for  festive 
occasions. 

But  aside  from  the  sights  there  is  little  to  keep 
a  foreigner  in  Milan.  Many  plays  and  operas  have 
their  first  representations  here.  Verga,  D’Annun¬ 
zio,  Boito,  and  other  celebrities  spend  much  time  in 
this  city,  but  accounts  of  the  cold,  of  fog  almost 
equal  to  that  of  London,  make  one  anxious  to  be 
off  before  winter  is  actually  at  hand.  Leaving 
Milan  was  quite  simple.  One  of  the  maids  of  the 
pension  went  out  on  a  balcony,  and  beckoned  to  a 
facchino  or  porter,  some  of  whom  are  always  loiter¬ 
ing  around  the  squares,  waiting  for  custom.  He 
came  upstairs,  shouldered  my  trunk,  and  bore  it 
to  the  sidewalk  below,  where  were  cabs  in  plenty. 
A  long  line  of  people  were  before  me  at  the  ticket 
office,  but  a  polite  individual  in  a  kind  of  uniform 
stepped  up  and  offered  to  get  my  ticket  for  me,  so 
that  I  need  not  wait.  In  a  moment  he  was  back 
with  it,  a  small  tip  sent  him  away  content,  with 
many  bows  and  thanks. 

The  best  Italian  trains  have  coaches  with  good 
springs,  vestibuled,  with  electric  lights,  and  com¬ 
fortably  upholstered;  these  are  the  corridor  trains, 

[18] 


Garden,  Isola  Bella,  Lake  Maggiore 


Jfirst  Smpresisiions! 


with  compartments  for  six  or  eight  persons,  accord¬ 
ing  to  whether  one  travels  first  or  second  class. 
Some  are  steam-heated ;  in  others,  when  the  weather 
is  cold,  metal  cylinders  filled  with  hot  water,  are 
furnished,  and  changed  from  time  to  time.  The 
third-class  carriages  are  quite  too  dirty  to  be  possi¬ 
ble  for  most  travellers,  owing  to  the  unfortunate 
Italian  habit  of  expectorating  frequently,  and  as 
far  as  the  lower  classes  are  concerned,  without  the 
least  regard  to  place.  On  local  trains  the  compart¬ 
ments  occupy  the  entire  width  of  the  coach, 
with  room  for  eight  persons  in  the  first-class,  ten  in 
the  second-class  compartment.  The  third-class  car¬ 
riages  are  seldom  upholstered.  The  fast  express 
trains  on  the  direct  line,  the  direttissimi ,  on  which 
additional  fare  is  paid,  make  quite  good  time;  then 
come  the  diretti,  about  like  our  local  trains,  making 
never  more,  and  usually  less,  than  thirty  miles  an 
hour.  Then  comes  the  omnibus  train,  which  may 
be  expected  when  it  arrives.  There  is  still  another, 
the  misto,  for  both  freight  and  passengers,  which, 
from  the  hours  indicated  for  its  arrival  on  time 
tables,  must  be  too  dreadful  to  contemplate.  The 
price  varies  according  to  style  of  train  as  well  as 
class,  but  travelling  second  class  on  the  diretti  costs 
about  the  same  as  the  same  class  in  England,  or 
ordinary  railway  fare  in  America,  without  parlour 
car  accommodation.  On  the  diretto — the  word,  as 
may  he  fancied,  means  direct — the  stops  are  fre¬ 
quent  and  long.  First  the  train  comes  to  a  stand- 

[19] 


jUtlan  aub 


still,  and  the  guard  walks  the  length  of  the  train 
calling  out  the  name  of  the  station.  He  may  or 
may  not  open  the  doors  of  the  compartments,  so 
it  is  well  to  be  on  the  lookout.  If  he  is  near  it,  and 
one  raps  on  the  window  he  will  open  it,  but  fre¬ 
quently  one  must  lower  the  window  in  the  door, 
lean  out  and  try  to  raise  the  latch  that  is  dropped 
across  the  door  to  hold  it  firmly  closed.  By  this 
time  someone  will  usually  come  to  one’s  assistance, 
and  porters  are  almost  always  plentiful  to  lift  out 
the  luggage.  Although  they  do  not  seem  to  think 
so,  Italians  carry  almost  as  much  luggage  with  them 
as  do  the  English,  and  for  a  journey  of  any  length, 
rich  and  poor  alike  carry  their  straw-covered  bottle 
of  wine. 

If  one  has  not  reached  his  destination,  however, 
he  sits  and  waits  for  what  seems  a  very  long  time. 
The  guard  goes  up  and  down  the  platform,  calling: 
"  Partenza-a-a!  "  with  long-drawn  ahs.  X ot  ready 
yet,  though!  Next  he  calls  repeatedly:  Pronti!  ” 
( ready) .  At  last  he  blows  his  little  brass  horn ;  after 
a  few  seconds  the  engineer  replies  with  a  toot  of  his 
whistle,  and  slowly,  as  if  reluctantly,  the  train  starts. 
As  this  is  all  repeated  at  each  stop,  it  will  be  evident 
how  much  time  is  consumed. 

If  one  is  travelling  alone,  or  is  not  too  absorbed 
in  a  companion,  and  especially  if  one  speaks  Italian, 
the  Italian  travellers  will  almost  always  chat  with 
one  as  they  do  with  each  other.  Frequently  this 
insures  interesting  conversations,  and  much  infor- 

[20] 


Jfirfit  impressions 


mation  about  points  of  interest.  Italians  ask  ques¬ 
tions  like  children,  but  are  equally  ready  to  answer 
them.  The  first  remark  was  often  a  comment  upon 
the  bravery  of  English  and  American  women  in 
travelling  alone.  This  was  often  followed  by: 
“But  we  are  becoming  more  like  that  in  Italy.  It  is 
only  a  question  of  time  before  our  women  do  the 
same.”  This  was  an  opinion  frequently  expressed 
by  Italian  men. 

Italian  railways  are  almost  entirely  owned  by  the 
government,  and  a  considerable  discount  is  allowed 
professors  in  the  government  schools,  or  any 
government  employees  and  their  families,  while 
soldiers,  both  officers  and  privates,  enjoy  a  still 
greater  discount,  travelling  for  almost  half  fare. 


[21] 


CHAPTER  II. 


MILAN  is  a  favourite  starting  point  for  trips 
to  the  Italian  lakes.  During  the  summer 
there  are  frequent  excursions  at  reduced 
rates;  many  leave  the  hot  city  to  spend  Sunday  at 
any  of  the  numerous  resorts,  since,  however  high 
the  temperature,  there  is  almost  always  a  breeze 
from  the  lake,  and  the  mornings  and  evenings  are 
much  cooler  than  in  the  city.  Lake  Como,  in  par¬ 
ticular,  is  lined  with  villas  belonging  to  wealthy 
Milanese  merchants,  who  go  and  come  each  day 
during  the  summer  to  their  places  of  business  in 
Milan,  only  an  hour  by  rail  from  the  city  of  Como, 
to  which  the  lake  steamers  make  frequent  trips  from 
all  other  landings. 

My  first  visit  to  these  far-famed  and  widely  sung 
lakes  was  in  the  month  of  July.  We  left  the  train 
at  Como,  with  no  especial  destination  in  mind, 
and  chance — or  was  it  Baedeker? — led  us  finally 
to  select  Cernobbio.  Stepping  into  a  carriage  at 
the  station,  we  were  soon  bowling  briskly  along  a 
fine  hard  road  which  for  the  greater  part  ran  close 
to  the  waters  of  the  lake,  bordered  on  the  other  side 
by  high  walls,  over  which  hung  blossoming  vines 
and  plants,  and  which  enclosed  a  continuous  succes¬ 
sion  of  villas. 


[22] 


lakes  Como  anti  Jlaggtore 

It  was  sunset,  and  little  groups  of  workers  from 
the  silk  factories  of  Como  were  wending  their 
way  homewards  with  much  gesticulation,  singing, 
laughter  and  chattering.  An  occasional  smart  car¬ 
riage  or  hotel  omnibus  passed  us,  and  women  came 
out  in  numbers  to  greet  the  returning  men,  all  pic¬ 
turesque  if  not  viewed  at  too  close  range,  even  in 
these  days  when  peasant  costumes  are  so  seldom 
seen.  There  is  still  a  bright  kerchief,  a  gaily  em¬ 
broidered  apron,  a  string  of  beads,  or  the  favourite 
big  gold  hoop  earrings  to  characterize  the  women; 
the  men  are  almost  equally  picturesque,  either  in 
velveteens  or  corduroys;  or  perhaps  a  broad- 
brimmed  black  felt  hat  and  gay  necktie  gives  them 
that  air  of  belonging  to  an  opera  chorus  so  charac¬ 
teristic  of  Italian  peasants. 

One  point  upon  which  my  friend  and  I  always 
agreed  was  in  shunning  the  large  hotels  beloved  of 
most  tourists,  and  when  we  drew  near  a  small  hotel 
facing  the  lake  we  bade  the  driver  stop.  Here 
rooms  were  arranged  for,  and  our  supper  served  at 
a  small  table  set  out  in  front  of  the  house,  on  a  kind 
of  square.  We  were  the  only  Anglo-Saxons  in 
sight.  Italians  came  from  villas  or  near-by  apart¬ 
ments,  and  a  few  from  the  hotel  itself,  and  took 
their  places  at  other  small  tables.  As  it  grew  dusk, 
people  flocked  from  the  narrow  streets  of  the 
village  hack  of  the  hotel  and  formed  groups  on 
the  square,  a  hand  organ  appeared,  and  played 
Italian  airs,  the  moon  came  up,  and  lent  an  air  of 

[23] 


lakes!  Como 


mystery  to  the  scene,  and  we  felt  that  we  were 
indeed  in  a  foreign  country. 

The  inn  was  a  truly  Italian  one,  with  smiling 
maids  and  waiters  on  most  familiar  terms  with  the 
innkeeper  and  his  wife,  if  indeed  they  were  not 
members  of  the  family.  The  main  hall  served  as 
office,  sitting  room,  and  dining  room  for  those  who 
did  not  care  to  follow  the  usual  custom  and  take 
their  meals  outdoors.  At  the  back  of  this  hall  was 
what  in  this  country  would  be  called  a  bar,  a  counter 
with  the  usual  array  of  bottles  and  glasses,  but 
where  the  beverage  most  frequently  called  for  was 
the  common  Italian  summer  one  of  fruit  sirup  and 
water  or  seltzer.  The  front  door  stood  open  day 
and  evening,  and  back  doors  opening  directly  oppo¬ 
site  into  a  court,  gay  with  flowers,  insured  coolness 
even  at  noon.  The  lake  front  of  the  village  is  taken 
up  with  hotels,  among  these  the  famous  Villa 
D’Este,  and  the  Municipio,  a  large  building  from 
whose  tower  a  cracked  bell  announced  the  hours. 
Beyond  the  hotels  are  a  few  villas,  and  in  front  of 
all  a  gravel  walk,  where  a  few  trees  have  been 
planted  and  carefully  boxed  around  to  insure  their 
growth,  the  whole  dignified  by  the  name  of  park. 
There  are  benches  under  these  diminutive  trees,  and 
stone  steps  lead  down  to  the  water’s  edge,  serving 
as  a  landing  for  many  small  boats,  or  in  the  evening 
as  seats  for  the  people.  Here  small  rowboats  could 
always  be  found,  and  near  by  is  the  small  pier  at 
which  the  lake  steamers  stop. 

[24] 


anfo  jftaggtore 


The  village  of  Cernobbio  consists  of  two  or  three 
back  streets  with  tiny  shops  for  the  sale  of  almost 
all  kinds  of  merchandise,  with  post  card  and  fruit 
shops  well  in  the  majority.  Over  the  shops  the 
working  people  live  in  that  crowded  proximity 
which  they  seem  to  love,  and  which  may  explain 
why  Italian  emigrants  do  not  seem  to  mind  herding 
in  tenements  in  the  country  of  their  adoption.  Cer¬ 
tainly,  save  on  farms,  they  show  little  desire  in  their 
own  land  for  the  separate  habitation,  however  small, 
which  most  Anglo-Saxons  desire. 

Next  to  our  hotel  was  another,  with  a  terrace  or 
balcony  of  stone,  supported  by  pillars,  along  the 
level  of  the  second  story.  This  left  a  kind  of  loggia 
beneath,  which  was  a  favourite  gathering  place  for 
the  populace  of  an  evening.  No  one  thought  of 
sending  them  away,  as  a  hotel  proprietor  in  our 
own  country  would  probably  have  felt  compelled 
to  do,  that  his  guests  might  not  complain.  The 
Italian  is  the  most  democratic  of  men,  and  the  hotel 
guests  watched  the  none  too  quiet  people  below 
complacently. 

Evening  after  evening  the  hand  organ  ground 
out  airs  from  popular  Italian  operas,  "  La  Tosca  ” 
and  “  Cavalleria  Rusticana "  well  in  the  lead  as 
favourites,  although  one  of  Verdi’s  works  was  sure 
of  affectionate  greeting.  The  men  returning  from 
work  whistle  or  sing  these  airs,  and  how  the  music 
fits  the  surroundings!  No  one  familiar  with 
“  Cavalleria for  instance,  but  is  struck  by  this. 

[25] 


3lafee£  Como 


The  people  gathering  in  the  open  squares  recall  its 
scenes,  one  looks  involuntarily  for  Santuzza,  one 
picks  out  a  coquettish  Lola  among  the  groups, 
while  Alfios  and  Turiddus  are  not  lacking,  even  in 
the  north.  The  Italian  peasant  has  a  peculiar,  free, 
unmistakable  walk  too,  which  one  soon  notices. 

After  greeting  friends,  exchanging  news  of  the 
day,  while  the  children  ran  along  the  stone  steps, 
perilously  near  the  water’s  edge,  we  thought,  but 
their  parents  looked  placidly  on,  the  loggia  under 
the  next  hotel  became  the  centre  of  attraction. 
Thither  the  hand  organ  repaired,  and  it  was  soon 
densely  packed  with  people.  We  had  plenty  of 
time  to  watch  them,  as  it  was  usually  quite  an  hour 
after  ordering  our  dinner  before  it  was  served.  The 
menu  was  not  extensive.  There  was  always  veal 
cutlet,  the  favourite  summer  meat  in  Italy,  salad 
with  delicious  oil,  cheese,  chicken  of  the  thin  variety 
frequently  met  with,  and  fruit.  These,  with  but 
few  other  dishes  and  the  native  wines,  seemed  quite 
satisfactory  day  after  day  to  the  visitors. 

By  the  time  we  were  served  with  coffee,  the  hotel 
waiters  had  brought  out  many  little  tables  and 
chairs,  rapidly  taken  possession  of  by  more  people 
flocking  to  the  scene,  and  which  they  were  at  liberty 
to  retain  for  the  entire  evening  after  ordering  an 
ice,  or  any  beverage,  however  inexpensive.  Then  a 
performance  began  beneath  the  loggia,  a  marionette 
show,  the  dialect  remarks  of  the  chief  manipulator 
being  received  with  roars  of  laughter  and  bursts 

[  26  ] 


Lake  Maggiore 


anb  Jilaggtore 


of  applause.  During  intermissions  the  hand  organ 
played  briskly,  and  it  must  have  been  well  after 
midnight  when  the  crowd  finally  dispersed. 

During  the  day  nothing  could  be  pleasanter  than 
a  trip  on  the  lake  on  one  of  the  little  steamers. 
There  are  no  lack  of  charming  landing  places  and 
show  villas  to  visit.  The  boat  rounds  numerous 
points  or  islands,  with  an  ever-changing  panorama 
of  beauty.  The  curious  deep  blue  of  the  water,  the 
wonderful  lights  on  hills  and  mountains,  silhouetted 
against  the  incomparable  Italian  sky,  so  blue  and 
cloudless,  one  attractive  villa  after  another,  some 
close  to  the  water’s  edge,  others  perched  high  on 
the  hillside,  make  the  trip  a  most  fascinating  one. 

One  day  we  went  to  Cadenahbia.  From  the  boat 
landing  a  broad,  shaded  walk  close  to  the  lake  leads 
to  the  Villa  Carlotta,  one  of  the  finest  show  villas 
on  Lake  Como.  It  received  its  name  from  the 
daughter  of  Princess  Albert  of  Prussia,  when  the 
latter  bought  it  from  its  original  owners,  the  counts 
of  Sommariva,  in  1843.  It  now  belongs  to  the 
Duke  of  Meiningen,  and  in  his  absence  is  open  daily 
to  visitors.  Of  the  villa  itself,  only  the  marble 
entrance  hall,  containing  a  frieze  of  exquisite  has 
reliefs  by  Thorwaldsen,  and  several  fine  statues, 
among  them  Canova’s  “  Love  and  Psyche,”  is 
shown,  but  from  this  hall  one  passes  out  into  the 
beautiful  gardens.  To  reach  the  villa  one  ascends 
a  long  flight  of  stone  steps,  and  the  gardens  are 
on  ever-ascending  terraces  hack  of  it,  so  they  lie 

[27] 


Eafees;  Como 


high  above  the  level  of  the  lake,  and  the  view  of 
the  beautiful  region  is  extensive.  All  kinds  of  trees 
and  plants  are  here,  including  great  masses  of 
rhododendrons,  palms  of  great  height,  and  in  some 
parts  the  walks  lead  through  veritable  forests,  so 
thick  are  the  trees,  with  every  now  and  then  open¬ 
ings  carefully  cut  to  give  a  glimpse  of  the  lake, 
which  then  appears  framed  in  semi-tropical  foliage. 
At  one  end  of  the  gardens  is  the  sepulchral  chapel 
of  the  old  time  owners,  with  marble  statues  of  the 
dead.  The  gardens  are  perfectly  kept,  and  the  ser¬ 
vants  who  show  visitors  over  are  polite,  and  make 
no  effort  to  extort  the  tip  which  most  visitors  are 
in  consequence  quite  glad  to  bestow.  The  entrance 
fee  is  given  to  charity. 

After  we  had  left  the  gardens,  and  declined  the 
urgent  invitations  of  boatmen  to  row  us  in  the 
bright  sunshine  to  Bellagio  opposite,  we  fancied  a 
cup  of  tea.  It  was  after  four  o’clock,  but  returning 
to  the  large  hotel  near  the  landing  it  might  have 
been  the  abode  of  the  sleeping  princess.  Not  a  soul 
was  in  sight.  Doors  were  open,  and  we  wandered 
through  one  room  after  another.  Finally,  as  we 
were  about  to  give  up  in  despair,  a  solitary  waiter 
appeared,  looking  as  though  he  had  just  been 
aroused  from  a  nap,  took  our  order,  and  promised 
to  bring  the  tea  out  to  a  shady  arbour  which  we 
had  noticed  near  the  water.  He  did  so,  and  we  sat 
there  in  undisputed  possession,  feasting  our  eyes 
on  the  beautiful  scene,  until  the  time  for  our  boat. 

[28] 


anti  Jllaggwre 


As  it  was  then  after  five  o’clock,  Cadenabbia  was 
beginning  to  show  signs  of  life.  A  few  well-dressed 
guests  emerged  from  the  hotel  portals,  some  going 
to  meet  our  boat  as  well  as  that  from  the  opposite 
direction,  which  was  doubtless  bringing  their  hus¬ 
bands,  brothers  and  friends  from  Milan.  Our  last 
glimpse  as  we  steamed  away  was  of  a  gay  group 
of  women  in  light  summer  gowns — and  at  no  time 
do  Italian  women  appear  to  better  advantage  than 
in  their  summer  attire — against  a  background  of 
hills,  with  an  ever-widening  stretch  of  blue  water 
between  us  and  them,  the  whole  scene  bathed  in  the 
soft  light  of  late  afternoon  in  summer,  while  the 
wonderfully  clear  Italian  atmosphere  brought 
out  into  relief  each  slightest  detail  of  beautiful 
colouring. 

A  nine  days’  stay  at  Stresa,  on  Lago  Maggiore, 
almost  convinced  me  that  it  was  the  most  beautiful 
spot  in  the  whole  world,  but  in  Italy  one’s  supply 
of  adjectives  and  of  superlatives  soon  gives  out, 
one  needs  new  words  with  which  to  express  one’s 
admiration  for  each  new  beauty  of  land  and  sea. 

In  selecting  Stresa  for  headquarters,  I  had  a 
special  reason.  Being  situated  on  the  west  side  of 
the  lake  it  received  the  morning  sun,  and  was  in 
shadow  quite  early  in  the  afternoon.  Places  like 
Intra  or  Pallanza,  on  the  opposite  side,  and  favour¬ 
ite  resorts  for  tourists,  however  delightful  in  win¬ 
ter,  were  bathed  in  sunlight  all  the  long  summer 
afternoon,  and  the  difference  in  temperature  was 

[29] 


Hakes!  Como 


consequently  great.  It  was  a  very  hot  July  the 
year  of  my  visit  (1906)  and  Milan  had  been  almost 
unendurable,  but  as  soon  as  the  lake  was  reached 
one  felt  a  cool  breeze.  At  Stresa  the  heat  was  at 
no  time  intense  during  my  stay,  although  the  news- 
papers  were  full  of  reports  of  high  temperature  all 
over  Italy.  The  mornings  were  fresh,  and  shortly 
before  noon  a  strong  breeze  would  spring  up  from 
the  lake.  By  four  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  one 
could  walk  in  comfort,  while  at  no  time  during  the 
day  was  a  lake  trip  uncomfortable. 

Close  to  the  west  shore  of  the  lake  runs  the  old 
Simplon  post  road,  one  of  those  fine,  level,  hard, 
white  roads  found  all  over  Italy.  Occasionally  it 
runs  sufficiently  back  from  the  lake  front  to  make 
room  for  a  villa  or  hotel,  but  in  general  these 
are  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  back  from  the 
lake.  Both  sides  of  Lago  Maggiore  show  an 
ahnost  uninterrupted  succession  of  villas  and 
hotels,  of  little  towns,  so  that  one  may  walk  or 
drive  from  one  village  to  another  almost  without 
knowing  it.  The  large  hotel  patronized  especially 
by  Americans  is  at  one  extremity  of  Stresa.  Then, 
as  one  walks  toward  the  town  proper,  come  villas, 
including  a  large  one  belonging  to  the  Duchess  of 
Genoa,  the  maternal  grandmother  of  the  present 
king  of  Italy;  nearer  the  boat  landing  a  row  of 
hotels,  beyond  them  more  villas,  and  almost  at  the 
other  end  of  the  town  the  villa,  with  beautiful  gar¬ 
dens,  belonging  to  the  Marchese  di  Pallavicino. 

[00] 


anti  iflflaggiore 


From  morning  until  sundown  these  gardens  are 
open  without  restrictions  or  fee  of  any  kind  to  the 
public.  Anyone  is  free  to  wander  about,  or  sit  near 
a  shady  thicket  and  listen  to  the  nightingales,  which 
even  in  summer  sing  here  late  in  the  afternoon  or 
in  the  evening.  The  Duchess  of  Genoa  spends  a 
portion  of  every  summer  at  her  villa,  and  is  some¬ 
times  joined  by  her  daughter,  ihe  gracious  Queen 
Margherita.  A  number  of  Genoese  families  have 
their  summer  homes  here. 

The  Duchess  of  Genoa  was  staying  at  her  villa 
while  I  was  in  Stresa.  Every  evening  about  half 
past  seven,  when  the  air  was  delightfully  cool  but 
not  chill,  the  ducal  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
stout  cobs,  would  pass  the  hotel,  in  it  the  duchess,  a 
pretty,  white-haired  old  lady,  slight  and  erect,  with 
one  lady,  and  one  or  two  gentlemen  of  her  suite, 
all  chatting  pleasantly  together.  A  coachman  and 
footman  in  plain  black  livery  were  always  on  the 
box,  but  there  was  no  display  of  any  kind;  they 
might  have  been  any  four  ladies  and  gentlemen  out 
for  a  drive. 

From  Stresa  it  is  but  a  short  row  to  the  beautiful 
Borromean  Isles,  or  one  can  go  by  steamer  in  five 
minutes,  save  to  Isola  Madre,  where  the  steamers 
do  not  touch.  The  weather  being  so  warm  the 
steamer  was  preferable.  These  three  islands  are 
the  property  of  Count  Borromeo.  On  Isola  Madre 
are  a  fine  park,  a  residence  of  the  family,  and  ex¬ 
tensive  orange  and  lemon  groves  laid  out  in  ter- 

[31] 


Hakes  Como 


races.  On  Isola  Bella — the  name  sounds  like  a 
caress,  even  when  called  out  by  the  steamer  offi¬ 
cials,  and  well  deserves  its  name — is  a  remarkable 
Italian  garden,  highly  artificial,  but  most  pictur¬ 
esque,  containing  many  varieties  of  trees  and 
plants.  Here  birds,  some  of  them  quite  strangers 
to  me,  sing  gaily,  as  well  they  may.  A  large  cha¬ 
teau  built  by  Count  Borromeo  in  1650-1671  has  one 
wing  still  unfinished,  but  it  is  quite  large  enough 
without  this.  It  is  at  the  northern  end  of  the  island, 
where  it  is  quite  narrow,  so  from  windows  on  three 
sides  of  the  chateau  one  looks  out  directly  upon  the 
beautiful  blue  lake,  and  off  at  the  encircling  hills. 
The  garden  covers  the  other  end  of  the  island;  but 
at  one  side,  close  to  the  entrance  of  the  chateau, 
are  a  chapel  and  a  few  houses,  constituting  a  small 
settlement.  In  these  houses  all  are  of  course  the 
count’s  tenants.  The  chateau  contains  many  paint¬ 
ings,  tapestries,  fine  bric-a-brac,  old  furniture  and 
curiosities.  Here  many  royalties  and  nobles  have 
been  entertained  in  bygone  days. 

The  Isola  dei  Pescatori  (Isle  of  the  Fishermen) 
is  exactly  what  its  name  implies.  The  fishermen’s 
houses  are  four  or  five  storied  stone  buildings  built 
closely  together,  and  near  the  water’s  edge,  where 
boats  of  all  sizes  were  drawn  up.  Each  house  ap¬ 
parently  contained  a  number  of  families.  There 
are  one  or  two  inns  on  the  little  island,  chiefly  re¬ 
sorted  to  by  parties  from  the  neighbouring  shore 
towns  for  fish  dinners  or  suppers.  The  grey  stone 

[32] 


anb  jWaggiore 


houses  were  enough  to  delight  an  artist.  There 
were  balconies  on  almost  every  floor  overlooking 
the  lake,  and  from  these  balconies  hung  masses  of 
geraniums  drooping  like  vines,  and  covered  with 
red  or  deep  pink  blossoms,  such  as  one  frequently 
sees  in  northern  Italy. 

One  morning  the  old  waiter  came  to  me  with  the 
air  of  one  anxious  to  impart  information.  I  had 
remarked  that  some  day  I  intended  to  take  the  sail 
to  the  other  end  of  the  lake  and  back.  The  round- 
trip  ticket  from  Stresa  ordinarily  cost  some  six  or 
seven  francs. 

“  To-morrow,”  said  the  friendly  waiter,  “  is  a 
fcsta.”  This  announcement  had  come  to  mean 
nothing  to  me  in  Italy  save  an  excuse  for  closing 
shops,  or  for  laundresses  suddenly  stopping  work 
on  the  washing  one  is  anxious  to  have  ready  by  a 
certain  day.  I  believe  this  especial  fcsta  was  one  of 
the  numerous  saints’  days  of  the  Italian  calendar. 
I  was  not  quite  sure  how  this  affected  me  or  my 
welfare,  however  I  assented.  He  continued: 

“  If  the  signorina  wishes  to  take  that  trip  to 
Locarno  to-morrow  the  fares  on  the  steamers  are 
greatly  reduced.”  He  mentioned  the  amount,  and 
I  think  it  was  a  franc  and  a  half. 

“  But  do  you  not  think  that  the  boats  would  be 
very  crowded?  ”  I  asked. 

“  No,  signorina ,  I  think  not.  They  are  more  apt 
to  be  crowded  on  Sundays  than  on  to-morrow.” 

Upon  his  recommendation  I  decided  to  try  it. 

[33] 


Hakes  Como 


No  true  woman  objects  to  a  bargain.  To  make  the 
trip  in  one  day  it  was  necessary  to  take  quite  an 
early  boat,  but  my  breakfast  was  waiting  for  me 
when  I  came  downstairs,  and  the  waiter  kept  care¬ 
ful  watch  of  the  clock,  so  that  I  might  neither  miss 
the  boat  nor  be  unnecessarily  hurried.  It  promised 
to  be  a  perfect  day. 

Unfortunately  a  hard  thunder-storm  came  up 
soon  after  we  started,  but  the  boat  was  not  so 
crowded  that  there  was  not  room  for  all  to  sit  in 
the  middle  of  it  and  keep  dry. 

Locarno  is  a  sleepy  little  Swiss  town,  the  side¬ 
walks  of  its  main  street  for  almost  the  entire  length 
are  covered  with  porticoes,  above  which  are  the  pro¬ 
jecting  second  stories  of  its  buildings.  Beneath 
these  porticoes  are  the  principal  shops,  the  most 
attractive  ones  being  those  where  the  beautiful 
Swiss  embroideries  or  the  ever-present  post  cards 
are  sold.  Out  from  the  town  itself,  along  the  lake, 
are  charmingly  situated  hotels,  pensions  and  villas, 
and  they  say  that  in  winter  it  is  quite  a  resort.  At 
the  hotel  where  I  lunched  I  saw  no  one  but  a  sleepy 
waiter  and  two  maids. 

The  return  sail  was  beautiful,  though  still  varied 
by  occasional  dashes  of  rain. 

At  the  northern  end  of  the  lake,  near  Locarno, 
the  scenery  is  rather  more  rugged  than  further 
south,  although  this  is  too  harsh  a  word.  The  hills 
are  covered  with  dark  foliage,  there  is  an  occasional 
ravine,  the  villas  are  less  thickly  clustered.  Lake 

[34] 


Isola  dei  Pescatori 


anti  Jflaggwre 


Maggiore  is  less  smiling  than  Lake  Como,  but  it 
would  be  hard  to  say  which  is  the  more  beautiful. 
Both  are  exquisite.  There  is  never  a  suggestion  of 
ugliness ;  no  bare,  barren  stretches,  as  yet  no 
hideous  advertising  signs.  The  pink  and  grey 
stucco  houses  blend  far  more  harmoniously  with 
the  beauty  of  scene  than  ugly,  shabby  wooden 
structures,  either  with  paint  half  worn  off,  or  glar¬ 
ingly  fresh  and  vivid,  such  as  too  often  disfigure 
our  landscapes.  The  luxuriant  vegetation  would 
soften  them  if  they  did  exist.  Here  and  there  a 
ruined  castle  lends  an  added  touch  of  the  pictur¬ 
esque. 

When  we  reached  Stresa  the  sun  was  just  break¬ 
ing  through  the  clouds  after  another  shower.  At 
the  boat  landing  stood  one  of  the  old  proprietors 
of  my  hotel  with  an  umbrella  for  me.  The  waiter 
had  noticed  that  I  went  without  one,  since  the  sun 
was  shining  early  in  the  morning.  He  had  men¬ 
tioned  the  fact,  and,  in  consequence,  here  was  my 
kindly  old  host  with  one.  It  is  these  constant  little 
friendly  attentions  on  the  part  of  Italians  which  so 
endear  them  to  those  who  will  take  the  least  trouble 
to  become  acquainted  with  them.  If,  however,  one 
travel  in  Italy  with  the  firm  conviction  that  he  or 
she  is  to  be  robbed  and  cheated  at  every  turn,  if 
one  look  with  suspicion  upon  every  Italian  one 
meets,  can  it  be  wondered  at  that  such  an  one  never 
really  understands  this  people? 

There  are  pretty  walks  to  be  taken  in  the  country 
[35] 


Hakes  Como  anb  jWaggtore 

back  of  Stresa,  although  in  summer,  as  they  are 
chiefly  uphill  climbs,  they  are  not  as  alluring  as  at 
a  different  season.  Back  from  the  town,  and  quite 
high  above  the  lake,  with  a  beautiful  view,  is  the 
Rosminian  College.  Open  to  visitors  is  a  chapel 
in  which  is  buried  Antonio  Rosmini,  the  Italian 
priest,  patriot  and  philosopher,  founder  of  the 
“  Institute  of  the  Brethren  of  Charity,”  the  Ros¬ 
minian  F athers,  and  who  spent  so  many  years,  and 
finally  died,  in  Stresa,  in  1855.  A  remarkable 
statue  by  V ela  marks  his  tomb. 

Many  trips  to  the  other  Italian  lakes  may  be 
made  from  Stresa.  Across  the  lake  from  Laveno 
a  steam  tram  runs  to  the  Lake  of  Varese,  familiar 
to  readers  of  Fogazzaro’s  books;  from  Luino  an¬ 
other  runs  to  the  Lake  of  Lugano,  and  there  are 
many  small  lakes  within  driving  distance,  includ¬ 
ing  Orta.  But  although  all  these  trips  may  be 
made  in  summer,  it  is  not  the  best  season  for  them. 
In  October  they  would  be  delightful. 


[36] 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  railway  journey  from  Milan  to  Genoa 
is  very  pretty.  There  are,  to  be  sure,  fre¬ 
quent  tunnels,  but  the  view  from  the  high 
elevation  to  which  the  train  winds  and  twists  is 
beautiful.  After  the  descent  I  had  my  first  view 
of  the  stony-bedded  Italian  rivers,  at  this  season  of 
September  almost  perfectly  dry.  Around  the  few 
little  pools  remaining  crouched  groups  of  women 
washing  clothes.  They  rubbed  them  with  soap  and 
then  with  stones  from  the  river  bed,  rinsing  them 
in  the  clear  cold  water,  chatting  and  laughing  the 
while.  After  one  has  watched  these  laundry 
scenes,  one  wonders  how  it  is  possible  for  the  clothes 
to  become  clean,  and  why  they  are  not  returned  in 
rags.  But  they  are  no  more  damaged  than  by  our 
laundry  methods.  Wash  day  in  Italy  is  quite  a 
social  function.  Out  in  the  villages  the  women 
gather  around  the  village  fountain,  always  pro¬ 
vided  with  a  broad  stone  ledge,  or  a  square  stone 
tank  with  broad  coping  is  fed  with  water  from  the 
irrigating  canals  with  which  the  country  is  inter¬ 
sected. 

To  those  wrho  seek  the  Italy  of  their  dreams, 
Genoa  is  far  more  satisfactory  than  Milan.  To  be 
sure  one  arrives  in  a  modern  station,  but  the  cabs 

[37] 


#enoa  anb 


clatter  tlrrough  narrow  streets  lined  with  tall  mar¬ 
ble  palaces,  with  glimpses  of  gardens  with  palms, 
of  cool  dim  courtyards,  and  marble  staircases 
flanked  by  statues.  There  are  electric  trams,  but 
even  these  do  not  spoil  the  illusion.  Overhead  the 
bright  blue  sky — unless  one  is  so  unfortunate  as  to 
arrive  in  the  rain,  and  that  is  unusual — in  the  back¬ 
ground  the  hills  crowned  with  fortresses,  or  villas, 
and  continual  glimpses  of  the  beautiful  harbour, 
so  crowded  with  shipping.  There  is  not  nearly 
room  enough  at  the  docks  for  all  the  vessels  that 
come  into  this  port,  despite  the  gift  of  twenty  mil¬ 
lions  of  francs  some  years  ago  for  the  enlargement 
of  the  harbour,  by  Genoa’s  public-spirited  Duke  di 
Galliera,  whose  family  have  given  largely  and 
wisely  to  Genoa.  Consequently,  as  a  rule,  only 
such  ships  as  have  just  arrived  or  are  about  to  sail 
can  be  accommodated,  the  others  lie  at  anchor  and 
are  loaded  from  lighters. 

There  is  scarcely  a  single  sidewalk  in  the  old  part 
of  the  town  except  the  Via  Carlo  Alberto,  running 
along  the  harbour,  with  porticoes  on  the  land  side 
upon  which  open  many  small,  cheap  shops.  The 
narrow  streets  are  paved  from  one  row  of  build¬ 
ings  to  the  other  with  large,  even  blocks  of  stone. 
People  come  and  go  quickly,  almost  under  the 
horses’  feet,  or  flatten  themselves  against  the  walls 
to  let  two  vehicles  pass.  On  the  principal  shopping 
streets  the  sidewalks  are  narrow,  save  in  the  Via 
Venti  Settembre.  This  street,  starting  from  the 

[38] 


Jfytv  palaces: 


Piazza  Deferrari,  is  being  entirely  rebuilt.  Hand¬ 
some  modern  stone  buildings  of  uniform  height, 
containing  attractive  shops,  hotels,  offices  and 
apartments,  are  being  erected  along  the  entire 
length.  The  street  is  wide,  and  broad  sidewalks 
covered  with  lofty  porticoes  make  walking  there 
agreeable,  even  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  A  hand¬ 
some  stone  viaduct  marks  the  crossing  of  the  Corso 
Andrea  Podesta ,  or  Via  Corsica,  as  it  is  called  at 
different  portions  of  its  course.  This  street  at  a 
much  higher  level  leads  down  to  the  harbour,  and 
ends  in  a  semicircular  bit  of  park  high  above  the 
sea,  to  which  side  streets  windingly  descend,  giving 
a  fine  view.  Below  are  bathing  establishments  and 
a  fort.  Continuing  down  Via  Venti  Settembre, 
after  the  new  buildings  are  left  behind,  one  comes 
to  the  sluggish  Bisagno  River,  in  summer  almost 
dried  up.  Turning  to  the  right,  a  fine  road  runs 
between  the  river  and  the  old  city  walls,  until  it  too 
reaches  the  bay,  and  turning,  follows  the  shore  past 
the  fort  mentioned  above,  a  breakwater,  and  so  on 
down  to  the  docks. 

I  should  say  that,  without  exception,  in  no  part 
of  Italy  are  the  natives  so  proud  of  their  city  as 
in  Genoa.  This  is  somewhat  remarkable,  for  the 
reason  that  the  Genoese  are  devoted  to  business, 
and  are  considered  the  most  commercial  people  of 
Italy,  hence  one  would  expect  to  find  less  admira¬ 
tion  for  beauty.  But  “Genova,  la  Superba”  is 
the  object  of  enthusiastic  admiration  by  her  sons. 

[39] 


<@enoa  anb 


They  talk  far  more  of  her  beauties  than  do  the 
Neapolitans,  and  always  compare  it  most  favour¬ 
ably,  and  to  their  own  complete  satisfaction,  with 
Naples.  Both  are  beautiful,  but  in  quite  a  dif¬ 
ferent  way.  The  hills  which  encircle  Genoa  on  the 
land  side  are  high,  and  but  partially  green.  The 
forests  which,  perhaps,  once  covered  them,  have 
been  destroyed.  Almost  every  one  is  crowned  by  a 
fortress  long  since  out  of  date  as  to  equipment,  but 
most  picturesque.  In  the  valleys  are  olive  trees, 
fruit  trees  and  flowers,  great  masses  of  colour,  and 
deep  ravines  are  filled  with  vegetation,  there  is 
nothing  bleak  or  barren  in  appearance.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  not  the  languorous  charm  of 
the  south.  Palms  flourish  in  Genoa,  and  the  public 
parks  and  gardens  are  full  of  them,  some  with 
enormous  trunks.  The  Genoese  will  say  with  pride 
that  their  city  is  clean,  and  it  is,  as  are  the  people. 
But  the  streets  are  not  filled  with  singing,  laughing, 
happy-go-lucky  people,  they  do  not  sit  about  in  the 
sun  doing  nothing.  On  the  contrary  they  are  hard¬ 
working,  industrious,  independent  men  and  women, 
and  there  is  much  wealth  in  the  city.  It  is  no  un¬ 
common  sight  to  see  women  of  the  class  who  do 
not  wear  hats,  respectable  elderly  matrons,  wear¬ 
ing  magnificent  diamond  earrings  or  rings.  The 
Genoese  are  fond  of  jewels,  and  invest  a  portion 
of  their  savings  in  them.  The  women  have  not  the 
fondness  for  bright  colours  of  their  southern  sis¬ 
ters,  and  wear  black  a  great  deal.  The  men,  too, 

[40] 


J|er  -palaces 


dress  far  more  simply  than  the  gay  Neapolitan,  in 
dark  colours,  save  for  the  common  white  duck  in 
summer. 

The  Ligurians — Liguria  is  the  province  in  which 
Genoa  is  situated — differ  greatly  in  appearance  as 
well  as  temperament  from  their  neighbours.  There 
are  two  distinct  types,  the  blond,  blue  or  grey  eyed, 
quite  Germanic  type,  and  the  dark,  somewhat 
Semitic.  There  are  a  number  of  Jews  in  Genoa, 
among  the  most  prosperous  merchants,  but  even 
such  Genoese  as  have  no  Jewish  blood  in  their  veins 
often  resemble  them.  They  are  far  more  serious 
than  any  other  Italians,  including  the  Milanese, 
who  are  often  called  “  a  race  of  shopkeepers.” 
They  are  not  nearly  so  talkative,  so  animated,  they 
do  not  gesticulate  as  much,  and  seem  too  much 
occupied  with  their  own  aff airs  to  pay  much  atten¬ 
tion  to  strangers.  In  no  city  in  Italy  is  a  woman 
more  free  to  go  about  the  streets  alone  without 
attracting  attention.  They  are  not  given  to  amus¬ 
ing  themselves,  and  save  for  a  few  large  balls 
during  the  opera  season,  there  is  hut  little  enter¬ 
taining.  The  large  opera  house,  the  Carlo  Fenice, 
is  not  always  open  even  for  carnival  season,  but 
there  are  several  other  theatres,  especially  the  Poli- 
teama  Genovese,  where  opera  is  frequently  given. 
The  foreigner,  if  a  man,  compelled  by  business  to 
make  Genoa  his  home,  seldom  meets  the  native 
Genoese  woman  socially ;  he  is  seldom  invited  to  call 
in  a  Genoese  home.  The  Genoese  men  will  be  cor- 

[41] 


<@enoa  anb 


dial  and  agreeable  to  him,  and  will  invite  him  to 
lunch  with  them,  but  it  will  be  at  a  caff e  or  restau¬ 
rant.  There  are  several  of  these  caff es  where  bands 
or  a  small  orchestra  play  in  the  afternoon  and  even¬ 
ing,  and  to  these  whole  families  often  repair  in 
summer,  spending  the  evening  listening  to  the 
music,  and  eating  ices  or  sipping  sirup  and  seltzer. 
The  wealthier  Genoese  usually  own  villas  at  some 
of  the  bathing  resorts  near  by,  at  Pegli,  Sturla, 
Quinto,  etc.,  from  which  the  men  of  the  family  can 
come  to  town  to  their  business  during  the  summer. 
There  are  bathing  establishments  in  Genoa  itself, 
but  these  are  the  resort  chiefly  of  the  poor.  For 
a  small  sum  one  may  take  a  tram  to  these  other 
places  where  the  water  is,  of  course,  much  cleaner. 

The  tourist  who  does  not  wish  to  be  made  to  pay 
four  or  five  times  the  proper  amount,  or  have  an 
annoying  discussion,  will  do  well  to  avoid  cabs. 
The  electric  trams  run  all  over  the  city,  and  out  to 
points  of  interest,  are  clean  and  much  cooler.  The 
principal  hotels  now  send  their  own  omnibuses  to 
the  steamship  landings  as  well  as  to  the  two  rail¬ 
way  stations,  and  in  these  there  is  a  fixed  charge. 
There  is,  as  everywhere  in  Italy,  a  fixed  tariff,  but 
the  drivers  will  not  accept  it,  or  anything  near  it 
without  a  quarrel.  Five  and  eight  francs  for  a  one- 
franc  or,  at  most,  two- franc  fare  is  what  they 
usually  demand.  They  are  for  the  most  part  vil¬ 
lainous  looking  individuals,  then’  clothes  greasy  and 
dirty.  They  drive  recklessly,  their  cabs  are  not 

[42] 


A  Typical  Street  in  Genoa,  Old  Town 


?|er  palaces 


over  clean,  and  altogether  they  are  an  unpleasant 
lot.  Neither  guards  nor  hotel  men  will  interfere 
on  behalf  of  the  foreigner,  although  after  the  dis¬ 
pute  is  settled  and  the  cabman  departed,  the  latter 
will  frequently  sympathize,  and  comment  upon  the 
cabman’s  unreasonable  and  illegal  demands.  Once, 
by  marching  into  the  house  after  he  had  scornfully 
thrown  the  money  I  offered  him  on  the  sidewalk, 
and  by  refusing  to  come  out  again,  I  did  compel 
a  cabman  engaged  by  the  hour  to  accept  an  hour’s 
fare  plus  a  pourboire  for  thirty-five  minutes’  driv¬ 
ing.  He  insisted  upon  being  paid  for  an  hour  and 
a  quarter;  but  I  have  never  had  a  purely  peaceful 
experience  with  a  Genoese  cabman.  On  the  other 
hand,  every  one  warns  travellers  against  the  Nea¬ 
politan  cabman.  I  find  him  no  more  villainous  in 
appearance  than  his  Genoese  brother,  and  have 
never  had  but  one  quarrel  with  a  Neapolitan,  on 
which  occasion  an  appeal  to  the  guard  resulted  in 
a  decision  in  my  favour.  Certainly  they  will  cheat 
one  if  they  can,  but  they  have  a  more  genial  man¬ 
ner  of  doing  so.  In  Genoa,  as  in  most  Italian 
cities  save  in  the  south,  where  it  is  less,  the  charge 
for  a  course  to  any  part  of  the  city  is  one  franc  for 
one  or  two  persons,  with  no  extra  charge  for  bags 
carried  inside  the  carriage,  and  a  charge  of  from  ten 
to  twenty  centesimi  for  trunks  or  valises  carried 
outside.  Drivers  and  porters  always  try  to  pile  all 
luggage  on  the  outside,  even  to  a  small  handbag, 
that  they  may  charge  for  it,  so  it  is  necessary  to 

[43] 


(genoa  anb 


insist  if  one  wishes  them  inside.  The  driver  must 
receive  the  additional  pay  for  outside  luggage,  or 
he  would  hardly  he  so  persistent.  Whether  I  have 
been  unusually  unfortunate  in  my  experiences  with 
these  Genoese  cabmen  I  cannot  say,  but  certainly 
Genoa  is  the  one  city  in  Italy  in  which  I  shun  cabs 
save  when  absolutely  unavoidable. 

Everyone  is  warned  that  he  or  she  will  be  cheated 
in  Italy,  that  he  should  examine  all  money  received 
carefully,  whether  silver  or  banknotes,  as  much 
counterfeit  money  is  sure  to  be  passed  off  on 
foreigners.  As  to  the  first  charge,  it  is  certain  that 
foreigners  do  pay  much  more  for  things  than 
Italians,  save  in  shops  where  the  prices  are  fixed, 
or  possibly  in  some  of  these,  but  if  they  speak 
Italian,  and  are  willing  to  bargain,  they  will  not 
pay  extortionate  amounts.  Italians  themselves 
always  bargain.  But  most  of  the  purely  Italian 
goods  which  foreigners  purchase  for  souvenirs,  the 
silk  shawls,  wood  carvings,  mosaics,  corals,  etc.,, 
seem  so  cheap  at  first  price  to  the  purchaser,  espe¬ 
cially  to  the  American,  that  he  does  not  think  of 
offering  less  until  later,  after  learning  how  much 
less  someone  else  has  paid  for  the  same  thing.  As 
to  bad  money,  during  many  months  of  travel  in 
Italy  I  have  never  received  a  bad  note,  and,  I  think, 
but  one  bad  coin.  I  have  occasionally  received 
change  a  few  pence  short,  but  quite  as  often  I  have 
had  to  rectify  an  error  in  my  favour.  The  clerks 
do  not  seem  as  quick  at  arithmetic  as  at  home. 

[  44  ] 


jfytt  palaces 

Buying  postage  stamps  of  more  than  one  denomi¬ 
nation  at  a  post  office  apparently  always  necessi¬ 
tates  a  written  calculation,  not  quickly  reckoned. 
But  one  must  never  be  in  a  hurry.  As  for  the  cab¬ 
men  in  general,  always  excepting  those  of  Genoa, 
it  seems  to  me  they  are  about  the  same  the  world 
over.  In  what  country  can  one  step  into  a  cab 
without  question  and  be  sure  of  paying  only  the 
exact  legal  fare? 

The  heart  of  Genoa  affords  some  interesting 
walks  for  one  with  a  good  bump  of  locality.  Take 
almost  any  turn  to  the  right  from  Via  Carlo  Felice, 
to  the  left  from  Via  Nuova,  which  with  other 
names  for  the  same  street  in  different  sections  are 
the  leading  shopping  streets.  Down,  down  into  a 
hollow  one  goes,  tall  buildings  on  either  side, 
clothes  hanging  from  the  windows,  queer  little 
shops  with  all  kinds  of  cheap  merchandise  or  even 
an  occasional  low  class  restaurant.  Other  narrow, 
steep  little  alleys  lead  off  in  all  directions,  and  be- 
wilderingly  similar  in  appearance.  However,  one 
need  never  he  actually  lost.  If  one  takes  the  first 
ascending  alley  it  will  lead  out  into  one  of  the  two 
streets  mentioned,  even  though  at  quite  a  different 
point  from  where  one  entered  this  maze,  and  that 
means  a  cab,  an  electric  tram,  or  the  clumsy  horse 
trams  of  Via  Nuova,  to  convey  one  to  his  destina¬ 
tion.  One  street  runs  through  this  hollow,  start¬ 
ing  from  the  Piazza  Fontane  Marose,  which  is 
surrounded  by  historic  old  palaces,  some  of  which 

[45] 


#enoa  anb 


have  not  yet  been  turned  into  shops  and  offices. 
One  of  these  palaces  is  the  seat  of  the  German  Em¬ 
bassy,  and  two  or  three  are  occupied  by  Genoese 
princely  families.  This  little  street,  Via  Luccoli, 
is  lined  with  shops,  most  attractive  ones,  filled  with 
beautiful  silks,  photographs,  books,  and  jewelry. 
One  may  watch  the  celebrated  Genoese  filagree 
being  made  in  these  shops.  The  street  also  con¬ 
tains  old  palaces,  with  finely  carved  doorways,  and 
finally  broadens  out  into  the  Piazza  Banchi.  On 
one  side  is  the  Exchange,  a  fine  sixteenth  century 
building.  Through  the  windows  one  catches  a 
glimpse  of  a  marble  statue  of  Cavour,  Italy’s  great 
statesman;  he  is  represented  in  a  sitting  posture, 
and  the  statue  is  but  slightly  elevated  above  the 
floor.  As  one  comes  upon  it  suddenly  in  certain 
lights  it  looks  wonderfully  lifelike,  and  quite  gives 
the  impression  of  someone  addressing  the  busy 
members  within.  Opposite  is  the  picturesque  old 
church  of  San  Pietro,  built  in  1583,  as  a  thank- 
offering,  Genoa  having  escaped  a  plague  four 
years  before.  It  was  erected  upon  the  site  of  a 
tenth  century  church  which  was  destroyed  by  the 
Ghibellines. 

Genoa,  like  all  Italian  cities,  contains  many 
churches  with  fine  paintings,  but  they  are  not  par¬ 
ticularly  attractive.  There  are  the  usual  “  Sacred 
relics.”  In  the  cathedral,  with  its  black  and  white 
marble  fa9ade,  are  the  Cross  of  the  Zaccaria,  con¬ 
taining  a  piece  of  the  True  Cross,  which  St.  John 

[46] 


detached  with  his  own  hands  from  the  place 
“  where  our  Lord  rested  Ilis  precious  head,”  as  it 
is  described  in  the  old  chronicles ;  the  Sacro 
Catino,”  a  vessel  said  to  have  been  used  by  Christ 
and  His  disciples  to  partake  of  the  Paschal  lamb; 
a  silver  shrine  containing  relics  of  St.  John  the 
Baptist — they  show  one  of  this  saint’s  teeth  in  the 
School  of  San  Rocco,  Venice — and  other  lesser 
relics  which  the  sacristan  is  usually  willing  and 
anxious  to  show  for  a  consideration. 

Whether  or  not  one  visits  the  churches  of  Genoa 
one  will  be  very  conscious  of  their  presence  before 
he  has  been  twenty-four  hours  in  the  city.  The 
bells  awaken  one  early  in  the  morning,  deep  bells, 
shrill  bells,  cracked  bells,  chiming,  or  single  boom¬ 
ing  bells.  Again  in  the  afternoon  they  peal  out. 
After  a  while  one  becomes  accustomed  to  them, 
noisy  as  they  are,  and  really  looks  forward  to 
hearing  them.  They  are  part  of  the  picturesque 
whole,  and  belong  with  the  street  cries,  always 
musical,  with  their  long-drawn  final  oils  and  alls. 

The  street  as  seen  from  my  window  in  Genoa 
furnished  me  with  much  diversion.  First  there 
were  the  tall  buildings,  eight,  ten  and  twelve 
stories  high,  always  without  elevators,  save  in  those 
hotels  patronized  by  foreigners.  Up  to  the  tops  of 
these  tall  buildings  the  postmen  toil  three  times  a 
day.  A  peculiarity  of  them  is  that  while  the  lower 
stories  may  contain  quite  elegant  apartments,  the 
top  story,  up  under  the  roof,  and  sometimes  an- 

[47] 


#enoa  anb 


other  one  or  two  story  addition,  built  in  the  middle 
of  the  roof,  leaving  a  kind  of  piazza  or  terrace  all 
around,  will  be  occupied  by  quite  poor  working 
people,  who  use  the  same  stairs  to  reach  their  lofty 
abodes  as  do  the  tenants  of  the  more  expensive 
apartments.  These  terraces  are  often  converted 
into  flower  gardens,  or  at  least  there  will  be  pots 
of  flowering  plants,  increasing  their  attractive  ap¬ 
pearance.  All  the  windows  have  green  blinds,  but 
with  fixed  slats.  In  each  blind  a  small  square  sec¬ 
tion  with  hinge  at  the  top  may  be  pushed  out  and 
fastened  at  varying  angles  by  means  of  a  long  iron 
rod.  The  Italians  almost  always  close  the  blinds 
tightly,  whether  or  not  the  sun  be  shining,  and  then 
fasten  these  little  sections  partly  open.  From  be¬ 
neath  this  shelter  they  gaze  out  at  passers-by  or 
their  opposite  neighbours,  themselves  invisible. 

Then  the  peddlers!  Their  long-drawn,  musical 
cries  drew  me  to  the  window  many  times  a  day.  On 
a  small  handcart  would  be  displayed  rolls  of  cloth, 
cotton  or  woollen  according  to  the  season,  tape, 
thread,  shoe-strings ;  the  women  would  come  out  of 
the  houses  and  shops,  and  bargain  and  chat  for 
some  minutes,  then  the  peddler  would  cheerily 
move  on.  Up  the  long  hill  in  front  of  the  house 
horses  toiled  with  loads  of  earth  and  stones.  Evi¬ 
dently  building  was  going  on  on  some  hillside 
near  by,  and  many  of  these  hills  and  the  paved 
streets  leading  up  them  are  so  steep  that  one  won¬ 
ders  how  building  materials  were  ever  hauled  there, 

[48] 


Her  ipalace* 


unless  on  the  backs  of  mules.  The  carters  walked 
beside  their  horses,  calling  out  in  a  continuous 
chant,  cracking  their  whips  furiously,  hut  always 
in  the  air;  the  horses  seemed  perfectly  accustomed 
and  quite  indifferent  to  the  noise.  All  over  Italy 
whips  are  cracked  loudly.  Sometimes  it  is  like  a 
volley  of  musketry  to  the  unaccustomed  ear,  but  I 
saw  few  horses  here  abused  or  ill-treated.  On  the 
contrary,  I  often  saw  cabmen  petting  their  horses. 

There  are  interesting  palaces  in  Genoa,  with  fine 
art  collections  open  to  the  public.  Almost  every 
large  building  is  called  a  palace,  thus  University 
Palace,  Civic  Palace — the  City  Hall — etc.;  but 
aside  from  these  there  are  the  private  palaces,  or 
those  originally  belonging  to  noble  families,  and 
since  given  to  the  city  for  museums.  Some  of  them 
are  free,  at  others  a  small  admission  fee,  half  a 
franc  or  less  is  charged,  in  others  a  tip  to  the  serv¬ 
ant  who  shows  one  around  is  expected.  The  White 
Palace  and  the  Red  Palace  belonged  to  the  Brig- 
noli  Sale  family,  and  were  left,  with  the  art  collec¬ 
tions  they  contained,  to  the  city.  In  the  former, 
after  seeing  fine  paintings  by  Velasquez,  Murillo, 
Veronese,  and  many  lesser  artists,  porcelains,  etc., 
I  wandered  into  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  foot  of  the 
entrance  stairs.  Here  the  custodian  pointed  out 
various  treasures.  A  battle  flag  of  Garibaldi,  care- 
fully  wrapped  in  silver  tissue  paper,  beside  a  re¬ 
splendent  flag  bearing  the  arms  of  Genoa,  several 
articles  of  wearing  apparel  which  had  belonged  to 

[49] 


#enoa  anb 


the  famous  leader  and  were  now  preserved  in  a 
glass  case,  quaint  drawings  and  models  of  Genoa 
and  its  surroundings  in  the  fifteenth  century,  and 
a  very  beautifully  illuminated  parchment.  He  ex¬ 
plained  that  when,  in  1867,  Venice  became  a  part 
of  united  Italy,  Genoa  sent  her  early  rival  for  the 
supremacy  of  the  seas,  marble  busts  of  Pietro  Doria 
and  Vittorio  Pisani,  as  a  token  of  friendship  and 
welcome  back  to  Italian  rule.  Venice,  not  to  be 
outdone,  returned  portraits  of  Christopher  Colum¬ 
bus  and  Marco  Polo,  beautifully  executed  by  Sal- 
viati,  in  the  mosaic  for  which  the  city  by  the  sea  is 
celebrated,  and  this  parchment,  containing  a  letter 
of  thanks  and  presentation  of  the  return  gifts,  with 
wonderful  miniatures  and  scroll  border,  accom¬ 
panied  them.  The  mosaic  portraits  are  in  the 
larger  of  the  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Civic  Palace, 
where  the  Common  Council  meets.  This  suite  is 
magnificently  decorated,  and  contains  three  auto¬ 
graph  letters  of  Columbus,  which  used  to  be  shown 
until  some  vandal  cut  out  a  corner  of  one,  where¬ 
upon  the  originals  were  placed  in  the  pedestal  sup¬ 
porting  the  bust  of  Columbus,  and  photographs  of 
them  were  hung  on  the  walls  for  the  inspection  of 
visitors.  In  these  rooms,  too,  is  the  parchment  code 
conveying  the  privileges  bestowed  upon  the  dis¬ 
coverer  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella. 

The  Dnrazzo  Pallavicini  palace  contains  some 
magnificent  pictures,  curios,  porcelains,  clocks  and 
bronzes,  many  of  them  gifts  to  the  family  from 

[50] 


The  Promenade  by  the  Sea,  Nervi 


Her  palaces! 


royal  friends.  All  of  the  ceilings  are  gorgeously 
frescoed,  the  rooms  very  large  and  lofty.  Having 
heard  that  Genoa  is  quite  cold  in  winter,  and  as  this 
is  the  winter  home  of  the  family — they  have  a 
beautiful  summer  place  at  Pegli — I  asked  the 
polite  servant  who  was  showing  the  rooms  how 
they  were  ever  warmed,  since  the  one  fireplace  for 
burning  wood  seemed  wholly  inadequate.  “  Oh,” 
he  said,  “  we  have  heaters,  and  a  furnace  down¬ 
stairs,  such  as  you  have  in  America.”  Proudly  he 
pointed  to  a  register  perhaps  ten  inches  square,  set 
in  the  chimney  of  the  fireplace.  The  palace  is  all 
of  marble,  both  walls  and  floors,  with  a  draughty 
marble  corridor  opening  upon  a  courtyard.  With 
the  Italian  windows  opening  down  to  the  floor,  the 
effect  of  one  poor  little  register,  and  that  one  in 
the  chimney,  upon  the  huge  room  would  seem  to  be 
quite  lost. 

All  the  floors  in  Italy  are  of  stone  or  marble,  save 
where  in  a  few  cases,  parquet  floors  are  laid  over 
the  stone  ones.  The  stairs  are  of  stone  or  marble, 
only  the  doors  and  window  frames  are  of  wood. 
Many  doors  are  without  protruding  framework, 
and  are  papered  entirely  over,  like  the  walls,  so  that 
when  closed  they  are  hardly  discernible.  Even  in 
warm  weather  a  foreigner  feels  the  chill  of  the 
floors  through  a  rug,  but  Italians  do  not  seem  to 
mind  it.  Many  of  them  spread  down  but  few  rugs 
even  in  winter. 

All  visitors  to  Genoa  should  take  the  circonvala- 
[51] 


<§cnoa  anb 


zione  a  monte  trip.  As  its  name  implies,  this  is  a 
road  running  at  a  high  elevation  on  the  hills  at  the 
land  side  of  the  city,  descending  sharply  at  either 
end  to  the  harbour  level.  One  may  drive,  take  an 
electric  tram,  or  even  walk,  and  the  view  of  the 
bay,  the  whole  city,  will  well  repay  one.  Another 
favourite  trip  is  the  ascent  of  the  Riglii,  a  high  hill 
crowned  with  an  occupied  fort.  A  funicular  takes 
one  almost  to  the  top,  or  it  may  be  climbed  in  about 
three-quarters  of  an  hour.  It  is  a  steep  climb,  but 
interesting.  One  way  is  by  taking  the  flight  of 
steps  at  the  end  of  the  Via  Palestro,  then  up  a  nar¬ 
row  street,  so  narrow  that  the  occupants  of  the 
houses  could  almost  clasp  hands  across  it,  up,  up, 
catching  glimpses  of  little  gardens  through  open 
gateways,  out  over  olive-clad  slopes  of  the  beauti¬ 
ful  harbour,  or  the  high  hills.  A  few  children  or  a 
sure-footed  little  donkey  may  pass  you.  A  horse 
could  hardly  go  up  and  down  here.  Genoa  is  full 
of  just  such  streets  or  alleys  winding  up  her  hill¬ 
sides.  As  soon  as  one  leaves  the  main  part  of 
the  city  one  turns  into  them.  The  Genoese  must 
be  good  mountain  climbers.  Some  tantalizing 
glimpse  of  an  old  convent,  villa  or  garden  attracts 
the  foreign  walker,  and  he  passes  on,  despite  short¬ 
ness  of  breath,  and  at  last  comes  upon  the  ever- 
changing  and  beautiful  view  of  mountains  and 
harbour,  the  purple  shadows,  the  sea  melting  into 
the  sky,  the  grim  fortresses,  and  the  soft  grey- 
green  of  the  olive  trees. 

[52] 


Her  palaces 


The  Campo  Santo  of  Genoa  is  probably  the 
most  beautiful  in  Italy.  It  is  built  on  the  side  of 
a  hill,  and  an  electric  tram  takes  the  visitor  there 
by  a  winding  road,  up  and  around  curves  offering 
many  beautiful  views,  in  about  twenty  minutes. 
The  guide-book  described  this  cemeteiy  as  situated 
beside  a  rushing  mountain  stream,  but  in  Septem¬ 
ber  not  a  drop  of  water  was  to  be  seen,  merely  a 
broad  stretch  of  gravel.  Beautiful  colonnades  are 
built  around  three  sides  of  a  square,  and  at  the 
back  a  flight  of  steps  leads  up  to  a  platform  with 
a  chapel,  and  still  other  porticoes  further  up  the 
bill.  The  outer  wall  of  these  colonnades  is  un¬ 
pierced  by  windows.  Here  are  the  tombs,  rows  of 
marble  shelves,  with  marble  slabs  and  inscriptions. 
In  front  of  these  tiers  are  the  monumental  statu¬ 
ary.  Opposite,  instead  of  a  wall,  are  marble  arches, 
through  which  one  looks  out  upon  the  central 
square,  sodded,  and  with  shrubbery  and  flowers. 

The  first  impression  of  the  whole  is  that  it  is  very 
beautiful.  But  when  one  comes  to  examine  it 
closely  some  of  the  beauty  is  lost.  Interspersed 
with  exquisite  “  Angels  of  Death,”  beautiful 
draped  figures  signifying  Grief,  Hope,  and  other 
allegorical  types,  are  statues  of  the  departed,  both 
men  and  women,  in  what  was  at  the  time  of  their 
death  the  prevailing  mode  of  dress.  One  sees  large 
puffed  sleeves  side  by  side  with  voluminous  skirts, 
queer  little  basques  with  rows  of  buttons  down  the 
fronts,  on  the  part  of  the  women,  or  worst  of  all, 

[53] 


<@enoa  attb 


family  groups  of  life-sized  figures  in  various  atti¬ 
tudes  of  grief  and  despair,  conventionally  gowned, 
grouped  around  the  deathbed  of  the  person  to 
whom  the  monument  was  erected. 

Then  there  are  huge  wreaths  of  artificial  flowers, 
tied  with  enormous  black  ribbons  with  inscriptions 
in  gilt,  placed  against  some  monument  which  may 
be  a  beautiful  piece  of  sculpture,  and  with  wax 
candles  burning  or  burned  out.  The  latter  are 
there  in  numbers,  especially  soon  after  All  Saints’ 
Day,  at  which  time  Italians  make  a  practice  of 
visiting  the  tombs  of  their  dead.  The  tombs  of  the 
poor  who  cannot  afford  a  statue,  bust  or  relief,  are 
disfigured  by  photographs  of  the  dead,  whether 
old  person  or  child,  glazed  and  fastened  into  the 
little  marble  slab.  Sometimes  these  photographs 
are  put  in  embroidered  frames. 

Outside  this  Genoese  cemetery  I  saw  my  first 
Italian  beggars.  There  were  a  couple  on  crutches, 
several  children,  and  one  peculiar  man,  barefoot, 
but  apparently  neither  crippled  nor  decrepit,  knelt 
at  the  corner  of  the  outer  wall,  and  prayed  at  the 
top  of  a  loud  voice.  I  saw  no  one  give  him  money, 
but  he  prayed  on  until  the  tram  bore  us  out  of 
hearing.  None  of  these  beggars  had  the  pertinac¬ 
ity  of  their  southern  brethren. 

We  had  a  pleasant  afternoon  at  Pegli,  on  the 
western  Italian  Riviera,  or  Riviera  di  Ponente , 
Genoa  being  the  dividing  line  between  this  and  the 
Riviera  di  Levante.  Electric  trams  take  one  in 

[54] 


^er  palaces 


about  an  hour  to  the  little  village,  but  the  road  is 
chiefly  inland.  A  street  with  rows  of  pink  or  yel¬ 
low  stucco  buildings  runs  parallel  to  the  shore.  A 
few  small  hotels,  for  it  is  a  winter  as  well  as  summer 
resort,  are  close  to  the  shore.  Back  of  these,  on 
streets  sloping  up  the  hillside  are  numbers  of  villas. 
The  shingly  beach  does  not  look  especially  attrac¬ 
tive  for  bathing,  but  there  are  several  establish¬ 
ments. 

The  chief  attraction  for  tourists  in  the  place  is 
the  Villa  Pallavicini,  the  gardens  of  which  are  open 
to  the  public  on  certain  days  and  between  certain 
hours.  A  long  avenue  rises  steeply  to  the  house, 
and  from  the  terrace  there  is  a  beautiful  view  of  the 
blue  Mediterranean  in  the  foreground,  with  Genoa 
off  at  the  left,  and  between  and  at  the  back,  hills 
interspersed  with  valleys,  thickly  planted  with 
olives.  A  polite  gardener  took  us  through  a  fruit 
garden  of  figs,  pomegranates  and  lemons  out  into 
the  extensive  grounds.  We  passed  down  a  long 
alley  flanked  by  large  trees,  and  under  a  white 
marble  “  arch  of  triumph,”  then  the  path  led  to  the 
top  of  a  high  hill,  crowned  by  a  sandstone  imita¬ 
tion  of  an  old  castle.  One  can  enter  and  examine 
all  the  rooms,  complete  as  to  fireplaces,  and  a  wind¬ 
ing  stone  staircase  leads  to  an  upper  story,  from 
which  the  view  is  superb.  Then  we  passed  a  num¬ 
ber  of  what  appeared  to  be  tombs.  “  Imitations  of 
old  Homan  tombs,”  said  the  gardener.  A  little 
further  came  the  entrance  of  a  grotto.  This,  too, 

[55] 


#cnoa  anti 


was  artificial,  even  to  the  stalactites  and  stalagmites. 
After  groping  along  a  winding  passage  in  it  we 
came  to  its  main  hall,  where  a  rowboat  was  waiting 
in  an  imitation  subterranean  lake,  and  in  this,  after 
more  dark  windings  we  were  brought  out  into  the 
light  of  day  on  the  still  artificial  lake.  Here  there 
are  all  kinds  of  contrivances  for  tricking  the  unsus¬ 
pecting  visitor,  but  our  guide  warned  us  before 
showing  them  off.  There  is  an  innocent  looking 
bridge  crossing  the  outlet  of  the  lake.  A  spring 
hidden  in  the  grass  is  touched,  and  tiny  jets 
of  water  burst  forth  from  each  end,  crossing 
in  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  and  quite  drench¬ 
ing  the  unwarned  individual.  A  swing  may  lure 
children  to  seat  themselves  in  it,  a  spring  is  touched, 
and  more  tiny  sprays  of  water  drench  the  occu¬ 
pant.  A  stretch  of  pathway  bordered  with  shrub¬ 
bery  comes  next.  Here,  too,  is  another  spring, 
quite  impossible  to  find  save  for  one  who  is  thor¬ 
oughly  familiar  with  the  place,  so  carefully  hidden 
among  bushes  is  it,  and  from  these  bushes  more 
sprays  of  water  issue.  The  guides  seem  to  take  a 
never-failing  delight  in  exhibiting  these,  and  laugh 
like  children  over  the  many  contrivances. 

By  far  the  loveliest  trip  in  the  environs  of  Genoa 
is  to  Nervi.  The  electric  tram  starts  from  the 
Piazza  Deferrari,  down  near  the  old  church  of  San 
Ambrogio,  one  of  the  most  interesting  churches  in 
Genoa,  containing  among  other  good  paintings 
several  by  Rubens.  The  former  convent  back  of  it, 

[56] 


l>er  places 


after  having  served  as  barracks  and  as  jail,  is  now 
being  rapidly  demolished  to  make  way  for  street 
broadening  and  improvements.  One  can  also  go 
to  Nervi  by  rail,  but  the  other  route  is  far  prefer¬ 
able.  As  soon  as  the  city  is  left  behind,  the  tram 
runs  close  to  the  beautiful  shore.  Out  in  the 
suburbs  are  charming  villas,  built  in  the  prevailing 
Italian  style,  a  square,  box-like  building,  with  some¬ 
times  a  terrace  at  the  side  or  rear,  but  never  a 
piazza,  the  stone  of  which  the  house  is  built  covered 
with  stucco,  and  painted  pink  or  pale  yellow,  and 
with  green  blinds,  Variety  is  aff orded  by  the  deco¬ 
rations.  Around  one  house  on  a  level  with  the  sec¬ 
ond  story  a  ten-inch  band  of  dark  red  was  painted, 
and  upon  this  flowers,  quite  as  though  it  were  a 
frieze.  Another  had  a  large  picture  of  some  sacred 
subject,  an  Annunciation,  or  a  group  of  saints, 
painted  in  bright  colors,  almost  covering  one  side 
wall;  or  the  decoration  may  be  only  a  false  window, 
with  a  lifelike  vine  climbing  around  it,  or  a  red 
and  white  striped  awning  Avhen  viewed  at  close 
range  proves  to  be  merely  a  painted  one.  The 
Italians  seem  to  delight  in  this  painted  trickery. 
An  apparently  massive  marble  wall  in  some  niche 
in  a  church  turns  out  to  be  merely  painted  on  stone. 
One  house  outside  an  Italian  town,  at  a  distance 
appeared  to  be  a  two-story  wooden  chalet,  with 
cross  beams  and  rafters  in  a  darker  brown,  while 
a  thriving  wisteria  vine  climbed  nearly  to  the  roof, 
its  purple  blossoms  hanging  gracefully  from  a  little 

[57] 


<§enoa  anb 


balcony.  Coming  nearer,  I  saw  that  it  was  a  square 
stucco  house,  the  boards  and  rafters  were  only 
painted,  the  balcony  did  not  exist,  even  the  wisteria 
vine  was  the  result  of  brush  and  paint. 

The  road  to  Nervi  passes  through  a  number  of 
little  villages.  On  one  side  are  high  stone  walls 
outside  these  villages,  overhung  with  vines  or 
palms,  aff ording  tantalizing  glimpses  through  open 
gateways  of  villas  and  flower  gardens.  On  the 
other  side  is  the  beautiful  sea,  dashing  up  on  a 
rocky  coast,  with  many  little  promontories,  many 
honeycombed  rocks  which  send  spray  high  up  in 
the  air.  Sometimes  the  road  turns  slightly  inland 
to  pass  through  a  town,  but  in  a  few  minutes  it  is 
back  again  close  to  the  shore,  though  often  high 
above  it.  The  tram  runs  rapidly,  save  when  wait¬ 
ing  on  a  switch  for  one  from  the  other  direction 
to  pass,  and  in  about  an  hour,  having  paid  less  than 
a  franc,  one  is  in  Nervi.  A  broad  street  lined  with 
palms,  with  houses  on  either  side,  set  in  pretty  gar¬ 
dens,  leads  down  to  the  railway  station.  On  the 
hills  are  more  villas.  Little  quiet  lanes  run  down 
between  high  garden  walls,  through  archways  cut 
in  the  rock  to  the  promenade,  a  broad  walk  cut  in 
the  rock,  high  above  the  rocky  shore. 

The  beautiful  grey-green  foliage  of  the  olive 
trees  covers  the  slopes  of  the  hills  rising  back  from 
the  sea,  and  palms,  orange  and  lemon  trees  are 
plentiful.  This  town  is  a  great  winter  resort  for 
invalids,  and  some  of  the  pensions  have  extensive 

[58] 


3|er  palaces 

grounds  surrounding  them,  shut  in  by  the  usual 
high  stone  wall. 

Down  in  the  town,  near  the  railway  station  and 
a  factory,  stands  an  old  Roman  arch  spanning  the 
river,  one  of  three  remaining  in  an  almost  perfect 
state  of  preservation  in  Liguria. 


[59] 


CHAPTER  IV. 


TWO  hours  by  rail  from  Genoa  brings  one  to 
the  little  cluster  of  bouses  and  hotels  which 
form  the  village  of  Santa  Margherita,  on 
the  eastern  Riviera.  The  village  is  built  on  a  suc¬ 
cession  of  terraces,  for  the  strip  of  level  shore  is 
very  narrow,  the  mountains  close  to  the  sea.  From 
the  railway  station  a  road  descends  sharply  to  the 
one  street  along  the  shore.  On  one  side  of  this  are 
hotels,  a  few  shops  and  dwellings,  on  the  other  the 
shingly  beach  of  the  Mediterranean.  Back  of  the 
station  steep  flagged  paths  wind  up  the  hillsides, 
between  high  garden  walls,  and  everywhere  are 
olive  trees.  The  garden  at  the  back  of  the  hotel 
where  we  stayed  was  a  mass  of  lemon  and  orange 
trees.  The  shore  road  extends  to  Portofino,  three 
miles  to  the  south,  another  little  settlement  without 
a  railway  station,  and  on  the  north  to  Rapallo, 
about  the  same  distance  away.  Three  times  a  day 
a  primitive  stage  runs  between  Rapallo  and  Porto¬ 
fino,  but  the  roads  are  delightful  for  walking,  and 
the  pedestrian  enjoys  a  continuous  panorama  of 
beauty. 

Save  where  a  promontory  juts  out  into  the  sea, 
the  road  is  usually  close  to  the  water,  with  villas 
on  the  other  side,  and  olive  trees  planted  in  terraces. 

[60] 


Journejungs  gUong  tfje  &toicrasi 

On  one  of  these  promontories  as  one  walks  to 
Rapallo  is  the  Villa  Spinola.  The  iron  gates  were 
ajar  as  wre  passed,  and  pausing  to  look  longingly 
in  at  the  attractive  grounds,  wondering  if  they 
might  be  seen,  a  ten-year-old  girl  appeared  and 
volunteered  to  show  us  over  them.  She  pointed 
out  the  various  objects  of  interest  with  quite  the 
manner  of  an  experienced  guide.  The  large  house 
is  set  some  distance  back  from  the  road,  with  a 
beautiful  lawn,  and  shady  walks  descending  to  the 
sea,  for  the  promontory  is  quite  high.  The  house 
was  closed,  but  we  stood  on  a  broad  marble  terrace 
overhanging  the  sea,  which  broke  on  the  rocks 
below,  and  wondered  how  the  owners  could  remain 
away  at  this  delightful  season  of  the  year— Octo¬ 
ber.  On  the  extreme  end  of  the  promontory  are 
the  ruins  of  a  very  old  castle,  with  drawbridge  over 
a  moat,  now  quite  dry,  and  with  grass-grown  ram¬ 
parts,  on  which  are  still  mounted  a  few  useless  old 
cannon.  We  crossed  the  drawbridge  and  entered 
the  great  hall,  where  some  queer  old  weapons  were 
hanging  on  the  walls,  or  lying  on  the  stone  floor, 
mounted  a  steep  incline  leading  to  the  ramparts, 
and  tried  to  fancy  the  castle  the  object  of  an  attack 
in  those  old  times  of  fierce  conflicts.  Bold  indeed 
would  have  been  the  assailants  who  could  have 
scaled  the  rocks  from  the  sea,  which  surrounds  it 
on  three  sides. 

A  little  beyond  the  villa  the  road  passes  a  tiny 
fishing  village,  the  four-story,  pink-plastered  build- 

[61] 


Sfourneptngsi 

ings,  the  houses  of  the  inhabitants  built  in  a  solid 
block,  like  city  buildings,  as  is  almost  always  the 
case  in  these  Italian  villages.  Here  they  lived 
under  the  same  roof,  with  the  sea  coming  almost  to 
their  front  doors,  happy  and  contented. 

But  almost  all  Italians  seem  happy  and  con¬ 
tented.  The  maids  answer  one’s  morning  ring  with 
a  smiling,  Buon  giorno,  signorina  ”  and  bid  one 
an  equally  smiling,  "  Felice  notte!  "  One  enters 
a  shop  to  be  received  in  the  same  friendly  manner, 
and  if  one’s  purchase  is  but  a  spool  of  thread  she  is 
thanked,  and  on  leaving  the  shop  the  proprietor 
or  clerk  says:  “  Arrivederci”  that  frequently  used 
expression  for  which  we  have  no  actual  equivalent, 
“  until  we  meet  again,”  coming  nearest  to  a  trans¬ 
lation.  The  shops  open  early  in  the  morning  and 
close  late  in  the  evening,  but  the  shopkeepers  are 
never  too  busy  or  hurried  to  come  to  the  door  and 
point  out  the  way  in  answer  to  a  question,  adding 
directions,  and  often  going  to  the  next  corner  to 
be  sure  that  they  are  understood.  The  people  of 
the  poorer  class  will  always  go  out  of  their  way 
to  point  out  the  road.  Of  course  these  usually 
expect  a  small  coin  in  return — and  how  small  a 
one  will  content  them! — but  their  cheery  manner 
makes  the  giving  in  most  cases  a  pleasure. 

Rapallo  is  more  of  a  town  than  Santa  Marghe- 
rita,  with  narrow,  paved  streets,  and  rows  of  little 
shops  beneath  the  porticoes  which  cover  most  of  the 
sidewalks.  On  these  sidewalks  sit  old  and  young 

[62] 


gUong  tt c  &toieras; 


women,  making  lace  on  cushions,  the  shop  windows 
are  full  of  lace  collars,  pretty  and  cheap,  but  heavy. 
Lace  and  post  cards  are  everywhere  displayed. 

The  walk  in  the  opposite  direction  from  Santa 
Margherita  to  Portofino  is  equally  attractive. 
Years  ago  some  one  began  a  theatre  near  the  for¬ 
mer  town,  but  when  the  foundations  were  built 
abandoned  the  idea,  so  here  it  stands  on  a  project¬ 
ing  point,  already  quite  a  picturesque  ruin.  As  one 
nears  Portofino  the  strip  of  level  shore  grows  even 
narrower,  and  on  the  land  side  the  olive-planted 
terraces  rise  steeply  from  the  road.  It  winds 
around  several  beautiful  little  bays,  and  passes  two 
charming  villas  owned  by  Mr.  Brown.  Beyond 
Portofino  is  a  third,  with  more  extensive  grounds, 
also  owned  by  Mr.  Brown. 

The  road  ends  abruptly  at  the  foot  of  a  broad 
flight  of  stone  steps  leading  up  to  the  church,  large 
and  handsome  enough  for  a  city,  instead  of  a  fish¬ 
ing  village.  A  path  descends  steeply  from  the  road 
to  the  village  itself,  five  or  six  stone  buildings  con¬ 
taining  shops,  cheap  hotels — those  patronized  by 
tourists  are  all  back  from  the  water,  set  on  the 
hills — caffes,  and  apartments,  built  close  to  the 
shore  of  the  beautiful  Bay  of  Portofino.  Several 
of  the  village  buildings  have  the  popular  stone 
porticoes,  beneath  which  one  finds  lace  workers, 
hard  at  work,  stopping  only  to  invite  one  to  buy, 
and  exhibiting  their  handiwork  in  friendly  rivalry, 
while  fishermen  urge  the  delights  of  a  row  on  the 

[63] 


3fourncptngsi 


bay.  When  we  returned  to  the  church  to  take  the 
primitive  little  stage  there  was  no  sign  of  it,  and 
we  were  afraid  that  we  had  missed  it,  but  men, 
women  and  children  hastened  to  assure  us  that  it 
had  not  yet  arrived,  and  when  it  finally  came  in 
sight,  far  down  the  road,  several  who  had  been  on 
the  lookout  ran  up  to  tell  us  of  its  approach,  quite 
without  expectation  of  any  small  change  in  reward, 
it  was  all  pure  friendliness.  Some  of  the  children 
were  very  pretty,  with  dark  eyes  and  bright  colour 
in  their  cheeks,  but  the  women  looked  worn  and 
old.  All  seemed  happy,  however,  and  were  doing 
their  lace  work  out-of-doors,  under  the  blue  sky,  in 
cheerful  sociability. 

Even  on  the  much  travelled  Riviera  di  Ponente, 
extending  from  Genoa  to  the  Italian  frontier  at 
Ventimiglia,  and  on  as  the  French  Riviera  to  Nice, 
there  are  many  places  which  are  but  little  known 
to  foreigners.  The  familiar  resorts  of  Mentone, 
San  Remo,  Bordighera,  etc.,  are  usually  known  to 
tourists  as  winter  resorts  only,  or  as  stopping  places 
for  those  on  coaching  or  automobile  trips  along  the 
famous  Corniche  road.  But  all  of  the  Italian 
towns  are  visited  in  summer  by  Italians  for  the 
baths,  and  in  addition  there  are  strictly  Italian  sum¬ 
mer  resorts.  It  is  a  habit  far  more  than  a  fashion, 
one  might  almost  say  that  it  is  a  national  custom, 
for  Italians  to  go  to  these  watering  places  in 
summer;  that  it  is  considered  one  of  the  necessary 
things  in  life.  The  very  expression  given  to  this 

[64] 


dicing  tfjc  &tbieras; 

resorting  to  the  seashore  indicates  its  importance. 
Italians  do  not  speak  of  going  to  the  seaside,  they 
go  to  fare  i  bagni,  literally  to  take  the  baths.  This 
they  do  with  amazing  persistency.  The  true  season 
begins  July  15th,  and  continues  until  August  15th. 
A  few  remain  later,  but  only  a  few.  There  is  a 
reason  for  this,  though  scarcely  a  sufficient  one 
for  the  sea-bathing  enthusiast.  After  August  15th 
the  Mediterranean  is  frequently  rough,  the  water 
colder,  although  not  by  any  means  what  we  of  a 
more  northern  clime  would  consider  cold.  But  it 
is  also  far  less  clear,  apt  to  be  sandy  and  roiled. 

An  ideal  place  for  sea  baths  is  Alassio,  about 
sixty  miles  west  of  Genoa.  In  winter  this  is  a 
popular  resort  for  foreigners,  many  English 
people  own  or  hire  villas  during  that  season,  but 
in  summer  few  but  Italians  are  to  be  found  there. 
A  smooth  sandy  beach,  with  scarcely  a  pebble, 
slopes  gently  down,  so  that  one  may  walk  out  for 
some  distance,  yet  still  be  in  safely  shallow  water. 
The  difference  due  to  tides  in  the  Mediterranean 
is  so  slight  that  one  has  the  added  advantage  of 
being  able  to  enjoy  bathing  at  any  hour  of  the  day. 
Little  bath-houses  line  the  shore,  but  it  is  the 
general  custom  here  to  don  bathing  suit  and  a  long 
crash  wrapper  (accappatojo  is  the  correct  Italian 
term),  sandals  or  Turkish  slippers  on  stockingless 
feet,  and  thus  attired  to  walk  to  the  beach,  even 
though  one’s  hotel  be  at  some  rods  distance.  We 
frequently  met  people  thus  attired  strolling  about 

[65] 


STournejungs 

the  town  or  in  the  tiny  shops.  After  the  bath  wet 
suits  are  left  in  the  bathing-houses,  where  an 
attendant  takes  charge  of  them  and  dries  them,  the 
crash  wrapper  is  again  donned,  and  the  bathers 
usually  sit  in  groups  on  the  sand,  or  in  the  after¬ 
noon,  when  the  sun  is  low,  walk  up  and  down  close 
to  the  water’s  edge.  These  crash  wrappers  are  sold 
in  all  the  little  shops  at  prices  ranging  from  six 
francs  for  the  plain  white  ones  to  higher  prices  for 
the  more  elaborate  colored  and  striped  ones.  The 
cut  is  quite  the  same  for  men  and  women,  but  the 
men  usually  pull  the  Capuchin  hoods  over  their 
heads,  resembling  bands  of  white-clad  monks,  droll 
to  contemplate.  We  were  amused  to  read  posted 
on  the  walls  of  our  hotel  notices  that  guests  were 
not  expected  to  come  to  meals  in  these  wrappers. 

Most  of  the  Italians  spent  hours  in  the  water, 
going  in  twice,  and  sometimes  three  times  a  day, 
and  staying  in  more  than  an  hour  each  time.  The 
water  was  delightfully  warm,  but  we  had  no  desire 
to  emulate  them  in  this  respect.  As  usual,  there 
were  life-lines  even  in  the  shallow  water,  and  one 
or  more  bathing  masters,  according  to  the  number 
of  bathers,  to  watch  that  no  one  got  into  trouble 
through  venturing  out  too  far.  Quantities  of  life 
preservers  always  lay  on  the  shore,  and  bathers 
were  rather  encouraged  to  take  them.  The  Italian 
women  are  not  usually  swimmers,  but  armed  with 
a  large  circular  life  preserver,  they  would  float 
themselves  out  into  water  sometimes  over  their 

[66] 


The  Beach  at  Alassio 


gUong  tf )i  &tbteras; 

heads  in  depth,  and  placidly  stay  there,  almost 
motionless,  for  an  hour. 

Little  sailboats  were  continually  passing  back 
and  forth  close  to  the  shore,  but  they  seldom  went 
beyond  the  headlands  bounding  the  bay,  for  sudden 
squalls  are  by  no  means  uncommon  along  this  coast. 

There  are  stiff  climbs  back  of  the  town  up  on 
the  hills,  that  if  taken  will  reward  one  with  a  beau¬ 
tiful  view,  but  the  only  drives  are  in  either  direction 
along  the  Corniche  road.  Most  of  the  hotels  in 
Alassio  are  close  to  the  shore,  ours  was  so  near  that 
from  the  dining-room  one  descended  a  short  flight 
of  steps  and  was  directly  on  the  beach,  and  some¬ 
times  the  waves  broke  within  three  feet  of  the 
foundations.  Back  of  the  hotels  is  a  narrow  wind¬ 
ing  street  with  small,  dark  shops,  and  a  few  little 
cross  streets  or  alleys  run  off  from  this.  The  villas 
are  almost  all  back  from  the  shore,  up  on  the  hills. 

After  August  15th,  when  almost  all  the  people 
left  Alassio,  the  place  became  rather  lonely.  The 
little  park  with  its  tables  and  chairs  was  deserted, 
and  we  decided  to  move  on.  Finalmarina,  our  next 
stopping  place,  about  half  an  hour  by  slow  train 
in  the  direction  of  Genoa  was  totally  different.  It 
is  but  a  small  resort,  and  we  enjoyed  the  distinction 
of  being  the  only  Americans  who  had  ever  stayed 
there.  In  the  weeks  we  remained  we  never  once 
saw  another  Anglo-Saxon,  or  in  fact  any  but 
Italians. 

The  little  village  is  most  picturesque,  with  its 
[67] 


3Tournej>tngs 


narrow  streets,  its  overhanging  arches  connecting 
buildings,  and  the  beautiful  vistas  of  the  blue  Medi¬ 
terranean  caught  as  one  passed  the  narrow  alleys 
leading  from  the  main  street  to  the  beach.  Of 
course  there  was  a  cathedral,  quite  large  and  impos¬ 
ing.  There  was  a  piazza,  where  occasionally  a  band 
came  from  some  neighbouring  town  to  perform. 
There  was  a  caffe  on  this  piazza,  with  a  few  plants 
set  in  boxes  to  lend  a  festive  air.  There  was  also  a 
clumsy  little  horse  tram  which  ran  frequently  back 
and  forth  between  Finalmarina  and  the  inland 
village  of  Finalborgo,  still  older  and  equally  pic¬ 
turesque,  and  without  a  railway  station  of  its  own. 

At  Finalmarina  were  two  bathing  establish¬ 
ments,  the  larger  and  more  popular  connected  with 
our  hotel,  the  most  important  hotel  of  the  town. 
Here  for  six  francs  a  day  we  had  a  very  large,  lofty 
room,  lighted  by  electricity,  and  our  three  meals, 
with  wine  included.  The  attendance  was  far  from 
good,  but  atoned  in  willingness  and  amiability  for 
what  it  lacked  in  other  respects.  Luncheon  and 
dinner  were  served  in  a  dining-room  large  enough 
for  fifty  persons,  and  we  felt  quite  lost  at  the  great 
table  shaped  like  a  horseshoe,  where  we  were  often 
the  only  guests.  The  Italians  spending  the  sum¬ 
mer  here  chiefly  lived  in  hired  apartments.  The 
cooking  was  thoroughly  Italian;  but  for  those  who 
like  it,  as  we  do,  there  was  no  cause  for  complaint. 
Meats  were  good  and  well-cooked;  there  was 
always  plenty  of  fruit,  of  salad,  and  oil  is 

[  68  ] 


&lona  tfje  Efoteras; 


always  good  in  Italy.  Spaghetti,  all  the  various 
forms  of  pasta,  risotto,  and  other  national  dishes 
were  frequently  included  in  the  menu,  and  after 
the  first  few  days  the  hostess  or  her  daughters  used 
to  consult  us  as  to  what  we  would  like. 

Down  on  the  beach  the  bathing  establishment 
consisted  of  the  usual  rows  of  bath-houses,  and  a 
pavilion,  the  “  rotunda,”  in  which  were  a  piano  and 
a  piano  organ.  A  man  hired  for  the  purpose,  and 
eagerly  assisted  by  the  children,  kept  the  handle 
of  the  latter  turning  steadily  for  several  hours  in 
the  morning,  again  in  the  afternoon,  and  in  the 
evening,  save  on  those  special  occasions  when  there 
was  a  “  grand  ball,”  for  which  an  admission  fee  of 
half  a  franc  was  charged,  when  there  was  an 
orchestra  of  local  musicians.  Occasionally  a  vol¬ 
unteer  pianist  relieved  the  organ  grinder.  To  this 
music  children,  young  people,  sometimes  everyone 
danced,  round  and  round,  seldom  reversing,  to  the 
fastest  music — Italians  care  little  for  the  slow 
waltz — and  we  grew  fairly  dizzy  from  merely 
watching  them.  They  danced  before  their  baths, 
and  afterwards  again,  almost  unwearyingly,  save 
when  they  sat  on  the  verandah  overlooking  beach 
and  sea,  sipping  sirups  and  water,  or  possibly  a 
glass  of  cordial  or  vermouth.  Twice  a  week  ices 
could  be  had  in  the  evening.  As  for  the  beach,  it 
did  not  compare  with  that  of  Alassio,  but  was  very 
stony. 

A  character  of  this  establishment  was  the  waiter. 

[69] 


Joumejungg 

He  had  grown  old  in  his  calling,  was  most  obliging, 
and  delighted,  with  the  harmless,  simple  freedom 
of  the  Italian  servant,  in  talking.  The  small  tips 
of  five  or  ten  centesimi  customarily  given  him  with 
the  drinks  he  served,  were  augmented  by  a  lottery 
organized  for  his  benefit.  There  is  no  prejudice 
against  lotteries  in  Italy,  so,  aside  from  those  con¬ 
ducted  by  the  Government,  with  their  weekly  draw¬ 
ings,  they  are  frequent. 

As  the  first  Americans  who  had  ever  stayed  at 
the  hotel — a  few  English  people  sometimes  came 
there  for  a  day  or  two,  previous  to  hiring  a  villa 
in  the  vicinity — we  excited  the  greatest,  and  some¬ 
times  embarrassing  attention.  Groups  gathered  in 
the  streets  to  watch  us  pass,  we  were  pointed  out  to 
visiting  Italians,  small  children  occasionally  fol¬ 
lowed  us,  although  without  making  any  attempt 
to  annoy  us,  merely  gazing  at  us  in  open-mouthed 
wonder,  as  at  some  strange  beings.  Our  clothes 
came  in  for  a  great  deal  of  attention,  and  even 
admiring  comment  on  the  part  of  the  maids, 
although  not  in  the  least  remarkable  from  our  point 
of  view. 

The  Italian  women  wear  white  a  great  deal  in  the 
summer.  The  men  wear  white  duck  and  very  light¬ 
weight  woollen  suits,  with  a  variety  of  neckties 
which  would  amaze  the  Anglo-Saxon  man.  Bril¬ 
liant  ties  even  with  quite  bright  colored  shirts  are 
by  no  means  uncommon.  Sometimes  some  such 
“color  scheme”  is  affected  by  a  young  dandy. 

[70] 


gUong  tfje  &ibieras 

With  a  white  duck  or  flannel  suit  he  will  wear  a 
lilac  tie,  lilac  hose,  a  lilac  hatband,  and  a  lilac  hand¬ 
kerchief  will  peep  coyly  from  a  coat  pocket.  The 
Italian  man  is  fond  of  dress,  and  often,  especially 
in  the  lower  classes,  far  better  dressed  than  his  wife 
or  sister.  On  holidays  one  often  sees  women  of  the 
peasant  type,  hatless,  poorly  dressed,  with  but  little 
attempt  at  festive  attire,  accompanied  by  men  of 
their  own  class,  dressed  quite  as  gentlemen,  save 
that  the  materials  of  their  clothes  are  cheaper. 
They  use  a  great  deal  of  perfumes  too. 

Those  fond  of  walking  may  take  delightful 
mountain  climbs  back  of  the  town  of  Finalmarina. 
There  is  a  ruined  old  castle  within  easy  walking 
distance  of  Finalborgo,  itself  about  a  mile  away. 
Actually  to  stand  within  this  ruin  means  quite  a 
stiff  climb,  for  the  present  proprietors  have  effectu¬ 
ally  barred  the  easier  path  by  throwing  down  some 
of  the  rocks  that  formed  it,  for  the  sake  of  protect¬ 
ing  the  vines  and  fruit  trees  planted  near  it.  But 
the  climb  is  possible,  and  the  view  worth  the  trouble. 
On  a  high  hill  opposite,  looking  across  the  valley 
in  which  lies  the  town,  is  another  chateau,  possibly 
once  a  rival.  One  may  make  many  pleasant  trips 
by  a  climb  up  to  any  of  the  little  hamlets  nestling 
on  these  mountainsides,  and  provided  he  can  be 
content  with  Italian  dishes,  he  can  make  an  excel¬ 
lent  luncheon  at  the  tiny  little  inns,  however  un¬ 
promising  he  may  fancy  them  from  their  exterior. 
These  Ligurian  inns  are  clean,  too.  There  will  be 

[71] 


3Fom*neptngs;  gffong  tfje  &toteras 


in  summer  fresh  figs,  bread  and  fresh  butter, 
cheese,  salad,  Italian  smoked  sausage,  sliced  very- 
thin,  and  sometimes  served  with  the  figs  as  a  pre¬ 
liminary  course,  good  wine,  made  on  the  place  from 
their  own  grapes,  and  almost  always  a  chicken. 
Sometimes  one’s  feelings  are  slightly  harrowed  by 
the  landlady  bringing  in  the  live  chicken  which 
she  proposes  to  kill  and  cook  for  you,  tucked  con¬ 
fidingly  under  her  arm  to  show  for  your  approval. 
Here  in  some  of  these  little  homes,  apparently  so 
far  removed  from  the  world,  away  from  railroad  or 
post  office,  the  visitor  may  be  amazed,  as  we  were, 
to  discover  proudly  fastened  to  the  wall  in  a  post 
of  honour,  an  illustrated  post  card  of  the  Flatiron 
Building,  in  New  York  City,  sent  by  some  former 
chance  visitor,  or  by  the  never  failing  relative,  who 
has  gone  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  New  World. 

The  drives  from  Finalmarina,  especially  in  the 
direction  of  Genoa,  are  beautiful.  The  Corniche 
road  is  alluring  here.  One  passes  close  to  the  water, 
now  near  its  level,  now  high  above,  rounding  great 
rocky  headlands,  sometimes  passing  through  them 
by  tunnels,  with  the  blue,  blue  Mediterranean  a 
never  failing  source  of  delight,  and  at  sunset,  an 
ideal  time  for  summer  drives,  with  sea  and  sky  such 
a  changing  glory  of  opalescent  hues  that  one  with 
the  least  love  of  beauty  cannot  but  wax  enthusiastic. 
A  moonlight  drive  along  this  shore,  too,  is  some¬ 
thing  never  to  be  forgotten,  a  veritable  passage 
through  fairyland. 


[72] 


General  View  of  Finalmarina 


CHAPTER  V. 


MY  first  glimpse  of  old  Pisa  was  at  sunset. 
Anxious  to  spend  the  winter  in  some  one 
place,  and  study  Italian  seriously,  the 
question  of  where  to  settle  was  far  more  serious 
than  some  may  fancy.  There  are  so  many  dialects 
in  use,  even  among  cultured  persons.  All  Vene¬ 
tians,  for  instance,  love  their  soft,  pretty  dialect 
as  the  Genoese  love  theirs,  to  which  these  adjectives 
cannot  be  applied.  The  Genoese  dialect  is  one  of 
the  most  difficult  in  Italy,  and  a  mixture  of  Italian, 
Spanish,  Arabic,  and  many  other  tongues.  It  is 
almost  impossible  for  even  Italians  from  other 
parts  of  the  country  to  understand  it.  Of  course 
educated  Italians  are  all  supposed  to  speak  good 
Italian,  but  there  is  almost  always  some  local  pecu¬ 
liarity.  In  Tuscany  they  speak  the  purest  Italian, 
this  province  being  still,  as  formerly,  the  seat  of 
literature,  but  even  here  the  pronunciation  is 
usually  marred  by  the  aspirated  c.  They  speak 
slowly,  however,  and  this  is  of  great  assistance  to 
foreigners  learning  the  language.  In  Rome  the 
pronunciation  is  considered  perfect,  it  is  certainly 
most  musical,  hence  the  old  saying,  ee  lingua  tus- 
cana  in  bocca  romana”  a  Tuscan  tongue  in  a 
Roman  mouth,  as  qualifications  for  speaking  the 
language  well,  but  the  Romans  speak  very  rapidly. 

[73] 


Winter  month# 


Upon  Pisa  I  finally  decided,  as  most  conducive 
to  study.  I  found  an  Italian  family  willing  to 
take  me  into  their  home,  and  went  there  late  in 
October.  As  I  left  the  station  and  came  out  on 
the  broad  piazza  upon  which  it  faces,  I  fopnd 
myself  surrounded  by  importunate  cabmen.  There 
were  few  other  passengers,  but  cabs  enough  for  a 
crowd.  Later  I  often  wondered  how  these  men 
earned  a  living,  for  the  city  is  full  of  cabs,  and 
save  on  holidays  they  stand  idle  for  hours.  All 
the  cabs  in  Pisa  are,  I  was  told,  owned  by  a  com¬ 
pany.  The  fare  from  the  station  to  any  part  of 
the  city  is  seventy  centesimi ,  and  often  they  will 
offer  to  take  one  for  fifty  centesimi ,  or  half  a 
franc.  ? 

My  cabman  chosen  and  my  trunk  secured  (paper 
luggage  receipts,  with  the  number  of  pieces, 
weight,  and  charges  plainly  marked  upon  them  are 
given  all  over  Italy,  and  all  luggage  not  carried 
into  the  compartments  must  be  paid  for),  we 
started  off  down  a  broad  street  lined  with  hotels 
and  caffes.  The  number  of  hotels  for  the  size  of 
the  place  is  also  a  matter  for  speculation,  but  for¬ 
merly  Pisa  was  a  great  winter  resort  for  invalids, 
especially  for  the  English.  Now  only  parties  of 
tourists  come  on  their  way  to  or  from  Rome,  and 
remain  for  two  or  three  days  at  most,  usually 
merely  for  the  day.  The  English  church  was  never 
once  opened  during  the  months  I  spent  there. 

After  passing  three  hotels,  and  crossing  a  steam 
[  74  ] 


in  $h£a 


tram  track,  we  came  to  two  iron  gates,  an  opening 
in  the  wall  surrounding  the  city,  for  Pisa  is  still  a 
walled  city.  Here  is  the  custom  house,  and  there 
is  one  at  each  city  gate.  No  produce,  wine  or  mer¬ 
chandise  can  enter  without  dazio  or  the  appointed 
tax  having  been  paid.  Foreigners  are  seldom  trou¬ 
bled,  however.  In  my  case  the  cab  stopped,  and  a 
uniformed  official,  sword  at  his  side,  came  up  and 
tapped  my  trunk  inquiringly.  I  said,  " niente  “  he 
smiled,  bowed,  and  we  passed  on  through  another 
piazza,  with  a  statue  of  Victor  Emanuel  II.,  down 
the  broad  Via  Fibonnacci,  with  villas  set  in  gardens, 
then  past  cheaper  buildings  in  blocks,  with  little 
shops  beneath  the  apartments,  and  across  a  hand¬ 
some  stone  bridge,  decorated  with  sculptured  lions, 
spanning  a  broad,  muddy  stream,  the  Arno,  flow¬ 
ing  sluggishly  between  high  brick  walls.  More 
streets,  with  rows  of  three  and  four  storied  build¬ 
ings  of  apartments,  and  I  was  at  my  destination, 
where  I  was  cordially  welcomed. 

This  was  my  first  opportunity  for  studying 
Italian  life,  since  the  life  in  pensions  and  hotels  is 
always  more  or  less  cosmopolitan.  Here  I  was 
quite  one  of  the  family.  And  what  kind-hearted 
people  they  were !  Always  doing  and  saying  pleas¬ 
ant  things,  always  consulting  my  tastes.  The 
politeness  of  an  Italian  is  a  never  failing  delight, 
and  he  never  hurts  the  foreigner’s  feelings,  he 
never  sneers  at  other  nationalities  as  we  Anglo- 
Saxons  are  rather  prone  to  do.  Sometimes  he  may 

[75] 


SSItnter  Jfflontfjs; 


smile  at  what  seem  strange  vagaries,  but  amiably. 
It  is  difficult  for  them,  as  for  most  continental 
people,  to  discriminate  between  the  English  and 
the  Americans,  they  are  all  called  English,  so  the 
enthusiastically  patriotic  American  must  be  forever 
proclaiming  his  nationality,  and  will  find  it  expen¬ 
sive  to  do  so,  for  all  Americans  are  thought  to  be 
wealthy. 

With  the  exception  of  fruit,  wine,  cheese,  chest¬ 
nuts — the  Italian  chestnuts  are  large,  like  the 
French  variety,  and  quite  a  staple  article  of  food — 
and  a  few  other  articles,  I  found  that  eatables  cost 
quite  as  much  with  us.  Meat — inferior  to  ours — 
sugar  and  salt  more.  The  last  two  articles  are 
heavily  taxed,  as  they  are  one  of  the  sources  of 
revenue  for  the  government,  salt  being  a  govern¬ 
ment  monopoly.  Servants  frequently  do  the 
marketing  for  the  family,  and  carry  home  their 
purchases  in  large,  gaily  colored  handkerchiefs. 
Provisions  are  purchased  in  very  small  quantities. 
Fresh  butter  is  used  exclusively,  and  this  must,  of 
course,  be  bought  every  day.  It  is  well  to  watch 
tradesmen  pretty  closely.  In  butchers’  shops,  for 
instance,  old-fashioned  scales  are  used,  and  the  cus¬ 
tomer  cannot,  as  with  us,  see  the  figures  plainly 
shown  on  the  indicator. 

Rents  are  much  cheaper  than  with  us,  but  modern 
conveniences  are  lacking.  Outside  of  the  hotels, 
I  never  heard  of  but  one  apartment  in  Pisa  with  a 
bathtub,  and  that  was  a  huge  marble  affair,  with 

[76] 


in  ipitfa 


no  hot-water  connections.  The  large  towns  all 
have  bathing  establishments,  where  for  a  franc  one 
may  have  a  hot  bath,  but  in  Pisa  only  one  of  these 
bathrooms  could  be  heated  in  any  way.  Many 
houses  have  running  water  in  the  kitchen,  and 
perhaps  one  other  faucet  elsewhere,  but  some  fami¬ 
lies  do  not  use  the  water  thus  supplied,  fetching  it 
instead  from  the  many  fountains  in  large  pictur¬ 
esque  copper  jars.  Every  drop  we  used  was 
brought  up  one  flight  of  stairs  and  from  a  foun¬ 
tain  at  least  five  hundred  feet  distant,  for  the  head 
of  the  house  believed  that  the  water  from  that 
particular  fountain  was  purer  than  that  supplied 
by  the  city  in  pipes. 

The  majority  of  people  live  in  apartments  vary¬ 
ing  in  size  from  five  to  fifteen  rooms,  and  which 
usually  occupy  an  entire  floor.  The  rooms  are  of 
much  greater  average  size  than  with  us,  and  there 
are  few  little  dark  ones,  but  closets  are  almost 
unknown.  There  will  be  a  storeroom  for  groceries, 
and  wardrobes  must  be  used  for  clothes.  There  are 
two-storied  houses  with  gardens  at  the  rear  or  some¬ 
times  surrounding  them  for  separate  families,  and 
these  are  almost  invariably  called  pallazini,  or  little 
palaces,  while  the  larger  apartment  houses  are 
palazzi,  and  in  Pisa  many  were  old  palaces,  dating 
back  to  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  with 
entrance  doors  through  which  a  coach  and  four 
might  drive  into  the  broad  stone  hallway,  and 
depart  through  a  rear  doorway.  Over  these  doors, 

[77] 


®2ltnter  jWont&ai 


or  blazoned  on  a  great  stone  shield  on  the  front  of 
the  building,  were  carved  coats  of  arms  of  families 
perhaps  long  since  extinct. 

The  entrance  is  usually  on  a  level  with  the 
ground,  or  raised  one  or  two  steps.  The  ground 
floor  apartments  have  lower  ceilings,  smaller  win¬ 
dows,  with  iron  bars  on  the  street  side,  and  are 
called  mezzanine.  Upstairs  comes  the  first  floor, 
or  piano  nobile,  the  most  desirable  and  expensive. 
Here  the  windows  usually  extend  to  the  floor,  with 
a  waist-high  iron  railing  outside  the  glass  doors 
to  prevent  one  from  falling  into  the  street.  The 
ceilings  of  these  apartments  are  always  high,  and 
indeed  low  ceilings  are  rare  in  Italy.  All  towns  of 
any  size  are  lighted  by  electricity.  In  Pisa  both 
gas  and  electricity  are  used,  and  gas  ranges  are 
found  in  some  apartments,  and  much  liked, 
although  the  majority  of  Italians  still  use  charcoal 
for  cooking.  The  stove,  which  at  first  sight  resem¬ 
bles  a  range,  is  of  iron,  with  little  box-like  cavities 
for  holding  charcoal,  one  for  each  pot  or  saucepan, 
with  little  doors  to  open  that  the  charcoal  may  be 
fanned  if  it  does  not  light  well.  Roasting  is  done 
in  a  tin  oven  on  top  of  the  fire. 

Every  possible  south  exposure  is  made  use  of  for 
windows;  next  in  favour  come  east  or  west,  any¬ 
thing  but  north,  for  sunshine  is  much  appreciated. 
The  first  question  asked  in  looking  for  rooms  or 
apartments  is  how  many  windows  to  the  south,  or 
mezzogiorno — midday — as  it  is  always  styled. 

[78] 


in  fiisa 


One  hears  much  criticism  of  Italians  for  dirti¬ 
ness.  Some  of  them  deserve  this,  especially  the 
lowest  classes  in  the  south.  The  Italian  women  are 
quite  apt  to  be  untidy  looking,  their  hair  not  well 
arranged.  In  private  families  not  nearly  enough 
attention,  according  to  our  ideas,  is  paid  to  sweep¬ 
ing  and  dusting,  and  the  city  streets  are  not  over 
clean.  Sometimes  sidewalks  in  front  of  shops  are 
washed,  but  not  frequently,  and  I  suspected  that 
many  times  the  dust  was  laid  on  the  floors  of  pub¬ 
lic  buildings — other  than  the  museums  and  gal¬ 
leries,  which  always  looked  clean— by  the  use  of  the 
ever  present  watering-pot,  instead  of  being  re¬ 
moved  with  a  broom.  At  least  I  never  saw  the 
broom.  But  kitchen  utensils  are  kept  very  clean, 
and  the  copper  pots  and  pans  shine  in  a  manner  to 
delight  the  heart  of  any  housekeeper.  I  have  found 
most  hotels  and  pensions  clean,  in  spite  of  much 
that  I  had  heard  to  the  contrary,  nor  did  I  ever 
have  any  difficulty  in  obtaining  plenty  of  hot  water 
and  towels,  and  the  beds  were  comfortable. 

Italian  women  use  quantities  of  face  powder,  but 
are  not  addicted  to  rouge  or  peroxide  hair  washes. 
It  surprised  me  to  see  so  many  blondes  or  half- 
blondes,  even  sandy  and  red  haired  people,  and,  at 
first,  I  was  constantly  asking  if  these  could  really 
be  Italians,  much  to  my  Italian  friends’  amuse¬ 
ment.  The  young  women  are  often  very  pretty, 
but,  to  our  eyes  at  least,  lacking  in  style,  though 
they  have  pretty,  round  figures,  and  small  hands 

[79] 


Winter  Jtlontijs: 


and  feet.  Even  the  day  labourers  have  small  hands 
and  feet,  and  are  rarely  very  coarse  looking. 

Italians  are  far  more  ceremonious  than  are  we. 
Acquaintances  stopping  to  speak  to  each  other  on 
the  street  shake  hands  both  at  meeting  and  part¬ 
ing,  women  friends  are  apt  to  kiss  each  other  in  the 
Italian  fashion,  once  on  each  cheek.  When  calls 
are  paid,  each  caller  shakes  hands  with  everyone 
else  in  the  room,  both  at  coming  and  going.  At 
summer  resorts  Italians  who  are  on  speaking  terms 
usually  shake  hands  with  an  entire  group  for  good 
morning,  or  when  bidding  them  good  night. 

Pisa  is  a  sleepy  old  town,  basking  in  the  mem¬ 
ory  of  past  glories  and  importance.  The  univer¬ 
sity  and  two  regiments  of  soldiers  stationed  there 
cannot  make  it  lively.  Those  of  its  inhabitants  who 
are  not  natives  give  it  a  bad  name.  They  declare 
that  the  Pisans  are  small-minded,  mean,  given  to 
cheating,  stupid;  that  Italians  from  other  parts  of 
the  country  are  called  foreigners  in  Pisa,  and 
treated  as  such,  namely,  made  to  pay  more  for 
everything,  and  looked  upon  as  outsiders.  I  was 
solemnly  told  that  Pisan  ladies,  while  calling  on 
these  “  outsiders  ”  and  waiting  for  them  to  appear 
in  their  own  drawing-room,  have  been  known  to 
steal  out  into  the  corridor  and  open  cupboards  or 
drawers,  to  spy  out  their  contents,  or  while  appa¬ 
rently  absorbed  in  conversation,  have  felt  of  their 
hostess’  gown  to  gauge  its  quality,  and  learn 
whether  or  not  it  was  lined  with  silk.  One  day  while 

[80] 


in  $isa 


walking  with  the  daughter  of  the  house,  we  met 
several  girls  of  her  acquaintance,  natives  of  Pisa. 
Introductions  followed,  and  they  asked  me  many 
questions  as  to  what  parts  of  Italy  I  had  visited 
before  coming  to  Pisa,  how  long  I  intended  re¬ 
maining,  where  I  was  going  afterwards,  etc.  After 
we  had  left  them  my  companion  said  to  me:  “  Did 
you  notice  how  they  questioned  you?  I  had  an¬ 
swered  all  those  questions  about  you  several  days 
ago,  but  they  wanted  to  see  if  I  had  told  the  truth, 
or  if  they  could  catch  me  in  a  falsehood.” 

The  foreigner  can  hardly  decide  upon  the  justice 
of  these  accusations,  but  it  may  serve  to  illustrate 
the  feeling,  hardly  strong  enough  to  be  called  hos¬ 
tile,  yet  not  friendly,  which  exists  between  many 
Italians  from  different  sections. 

As  far  as  the  shops  were  concerned,  I  found  the 
Pisans  as  polite  as  all  the  other  Italians,  from  the 
little  stationer  who  thanked  me  for  purchasing  a 
dozen  pens  for  fifteen  centesimi  to  the  proprietors 
of  the  larger  shops.  Some  of  the  larger  shops  had 
fixed  prices,  in  others  bargaining  was  expected. 
Clothes  are  much  cheaper  than  with  us,  although 
the  quality,  especially  of  woollen  goods,  is  inferior. 
Silks  are  cheaper,  but  ribbons  are  almost  double  the 
price,  and  one  must  examine  them  closely  before 
purchasing.  Many  are  half  cotton.  Almost  every 
yard  of  ribbon  is  imported  from  either  France  or 
Switzerland,  and  a  heavy  import  duty  must  be 
paid.  There  is  no  reason  for  this  other  than  the 

[81] 


<EHtnter  iflontfjg 


proverbial  unwillingness  of  wealthy  Italians  to  in¬ 
vest  capital  in  industries  in  their  own  country. 
Almost  all  of  the  public  utility  companies  in  the 
vicinity  of  Naples,  for  instance,  the  trams,  electric 
lighting,  etc.,  are  owned  by  foreign  capital.  But 
in  the  north  factories  are  increasing  rapidly,  so 
doubtless  ribbon  factories  will  follow  the  silk  fac¬ 
tories  of  Como  in  time.  There  is  a  cotton  factory 
in  Pisa  shipping  goods  to  America.  Gloves  are 
very  cheap,  from  a  franc  and  a  half  to  two  francs 
and  a  half  for  walking  gloves,  and  those  of  Milan 
and  Rome  are  quite  celebrated. 

Until  the  very  last  of  November  the  weather  was 
perfect  that  year,  like  early  October  at  home.  Then 
it  grew  cold.  The  thermometer  went  down  to  about 
45  degrees  Fahrenheit,  and  remained  there  for  the 
winter,  varying  but  a  few  degrees.  In  spite  of  the 
fact  that  frost  is  almost  unknown  in  Pisa,  that  on 
the  rare  occasions  when  the  oldest  inhabitant  can 
recall  a  snowfall,  it  melted  in  an  hour,  that  roses 
bloomed  in  the  gardens  all  winter,  and  that  the  sun 
shone  brightly  almost  every  day — they  say  that  is 
unusual  —  I  found  it  quite  cold  enough,  for 
the  temperature  was  exactly  the  same  in  and  out 
of  doors.  There  were  a  very  few  families  in  Pisa 
who  had  fires  burning  in  their  drawing-rooms. 
Some  of  the  apartments  had  one  or  two  fireplaces 
with  very  small  grates,  or  a  porcelain  stove,  but 
usually  the  chimneys  smoked,  and  if  a  chimney  does 
smoke  the  case  is  apparently  considered  hopeless. 

[82] 


in  $tsa 


A  fire  in  a  bedroom  was  unheard  of.  If  one  re¬ 
members  that  the  floors  are  of  stone,  the  ceilings 
very  high,  the  kitchen  fires  burning  only  when 
meals  are  being  prepared,  he  will  not  wonder  that 
a  temperature  of  45  or  47  degrees  seemed  quite 
cold  enough.  The  women  don  jackets,  capes  or 
shawls,  even  though  they  may  be  wearing  slippers, 
and  callers  coming  to  spend  the  evening  keep 
on  their  outdoor  wraps,  and  scaldini  are  brought  in. 
These  are  small  pails  of  tin  or  earthenware  with 
a  fixed  handle,  and  are  filled  with  lighted  coals. 
They  are  sometimes  carried  under  cloaks  instead 
of  muffs,  and  all  the  working  women  go  about  the 
town  carrying  them  in  winter. 

When  cold  weather  had  really  set  in,  the  streets 
were  full  of  men  of  the  working  class  wearing  terra¬ 
cotta  colored  overcoats,  a  Tuscan  custom.  Those 
who  did  not  have  red  ones,  contented  themselves 
with  brown  ones  lined  with  a  vivid  shade  of  green, 
or  sometimes  the  red  and  green  were  combined  in 
the  same  coat.  A  touch  of  elegance  was  added  by 
collar  and  cuffs  of  cheap  yellow  fur. 

As  there  was  no  firejflace  in  my  room,  there  was 
no  possibility  of  warming  it,  for  we  used  electric 
light,  not  gas,  nor  did  I  ever  see  a  gas  heater  in 
Pisa.  I  tried  to  find  an  oil  stove,  but  there  was 
nothing  of  the  sort  to  be  had  in  Pisa,  although  the 
signora  had  a  very  small  one  brought  from  the 
north.  I  went  to  Livorno,  or  Leghorn,  as  we 
choose  to  call  it.  There,  in  a  shop  whose  proprietor 

[83] 


{Mutter  Jftontfjs; 


proclaimed  himself  an  American — he  was  from 
Peru — I  found  an  old-fashioned,  small  cooking 
stove.  I  am  sure  it  was  the  only  one  in  the  town, 
and  from  its  appearance  it  had  been  there  for  years. 
The  proprietor  and  his  clerk  were  deeply  in¬ 
terested  in  the  purpose  for  which  I  wished  it,  and 
expressed  grave  doubts  as  to  its  heating  capacity. 
The  clerk  recalled  having  once  seen  an  actual  oil 
heater  in  Paris,  never  in  Italy.  I  shared  their 
doubts,  but  bore  my  treasure  back  to  Pisa  in 
triumph  in  my  arms.  The  dazio  officer  stopped  me 
at  the  gates,  and  looked  puzzled  at  my  reply 
stuf a”  (stove)  to  his  question,  but  he  let  me  pass 
without  further  formality.  My  room  being  small 
for  an  Italian  room,  this  little  stove  did  take  the 
chill  off  after  it  had  burned  for  several  hours,  and, 
despite  its  odor,  was  quite  a  comfort.  Incidentally, 
and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  kerosene  sells  for  two 
francs  a  gallon,  I  am  surprised  that  some  enter¬ 
prising  person  does  not  try  to  introduce  the  modern 
oil  stoves  into  Italy.  Italians  do  not  like  to  be  cold 
any  more  than  other  people,  it  seems  to  be  a  kind 
of  inertia,  when  it  is  not  poverty,  that  prevents 
them  from  remedying  smoky  chimneys,  or  devis¬ 
ing  some  means  for  heating  chimneyless  rooms.  I 
used  to  fill  them  with  envy  when  I  described  steam- 
heated  apartments,  seldom  found  in  Italy  save  in 
the  foreign  pensions  of  large  cities.  Bedrooms 
with  fireplaces  can  be  had  in  hotels  and  pensions, 
although  by  no  means  all  rooms  have  them,  but 

[84] 


in  ip&a 


these  are  for  foreigners  who  insist  upon  them.  In 
the  extreme  northern  part  of  Italy  where  the  cold 
is  much  more  intense  than  in  Pisa,  for  instance,  the 
houses  are  heated,  usually,  either  with  open  fire¬ 
places  or  porcelain  stoves.  The  bank  buildings  in 
Pisa  are  steam-heated,  but  I  never  saw  steam  pipes 
in  any  other  buildings  there. 

When  I  became  quite  chilled  in  the  house,  I 
would  hurry  out  to  Lung’ Arno.  This,  the  main 
street  of  Pisa,  as  its  name  denotes,  runs  along  either 
bank  of  the  Arno.  The  river,  although  winding, 
practically  runs  east  and  west,  so  the  northern  and 
fashionable  side,  where  are  hotels  and  palaces,  as 
well  as  more  modest  apartments  and  shops,  is 
flooded  with  sunlight  all  day  long.  Oh,  that  bright 
Italian  sunshine !  The  deep,  deep  blue  of  the  sky ! 
After  a  few  minutes’  brisk  walk  it  was  a  joy  just 
to  be  alive  and  out  of  doors,  and  I  would  return 
home  thoroughly  warm.  Opposite  the  shops  and 
houses  a  sidewalk  ran  close  to  the  brick  wall  of  the 
river  embankment,  which  rose  several  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sidewalk,  terminating  in  a  broad 
stone  coping.  Here  lounged  the  idlers  or  peddlers 
of  shoe-laces,  rolls,  fruit,  and  castagnaccio.  The 
latter  is  a  thick  paste  made  of  chestnut  flour, 
through  which  are  scattered  peanuts.  It  is  carried 
around  the  streets  in  flat  tin  pans,  and  pieces  of  it 
are  sold  for  a  soldo  (five  centesimi) .  It  is  tough, 
with  no  particular  flavour,  but  workingmen  and 
small  boys  patronize  the  dealers  largely. 

[85] 


Winter  Jftontljs; 


Here  on  Lung’ Arno,  too,  are  the  post-card  ven¬ 
ders,  with  push-carts  on  which  are  displayed  many 
varieties  at  two,  three,  or  even  five  f or  a  soldo.  As 
there  are  quite  thirty  shops  where  these  cards  may 
be  purchased,  including  five  or  six  devoted  exclu¬ 
sively  to  their  sale,  it  is  hard  to  see  how  they  all 
make  a  living.  Probably  more  post  cards  are  used 
in  Italy  than  in  any  other  country,  however,  for 
they  to  a  large  extent  take  the  place  of  letters,  as 
postal  rates  are  so  high.  Until  1905,  when  the  rate 
was  reduced  one-quarter,  it  cost  twenty  centesimi 
to  send  a  letter  to  any  part  of  Italy  save  in  the 
same  town  in  which  it  was  posted,  where  the  rate 
was  one  soldo;  foreign  letters  cost  but  twenty-five 
centesimi,  a  post  card,  one  soldo  in  Italy,  two  to 
foreign  countries;  until  the  letter  rate  was  lowered, 
cards  with  six  words  of  salutation  only  could  be 
sent  for  the  infinitesimal  sum  of  two  centesimi,  and 
as  almost  all  Italian  girls  make  collections  of  post 
cards  they  were  sent  in  large  numbers.  The  abo¬ 
lition  of  this  low  rate  called  forth  loud  protests 
from  the  card  merchants,  and  very  probably  it  may 
be  restored. 

I  had  heard  much  about  the  rainy  winters.  Per¬ 
haps  I  was  unusually  fortunate,  but  not  once  that 
winter  did  it  rain  all  day  long,  not  once  was  the 
weather  so  bad  that  I  could  not  have  a  good  walk. 
The  daughter  of  the  house  was  fond  of  walking, 
and  on  pleasant  days  we  used  to  take  long  rambles 
out  into  the  surrounding  country.  Three  miles 

[86] 


tn  $)isa 


along  a  fine  hard  road,  bordered  on  each  side  by 
irrigation  ditches,  in  one  of  which  quite  a  broad 
stream  of  water  flowed  lazily  along,  and  by  rows 
of  sycamore  trees,  brought  one  to  San  Giuliano, 
where  are  baths  in  a  large  establishment  formerly 
a  convent.  Back  of  this  terraced  gardens  rise  high 
above  the  building,  and  from  these  terraces  are  fine 
views  of  the  neighbouring  mountains  curving  in  a 
semicircle  around  Pisa,  and  the  distant,  snow¬ 
capped  Apennines.  Near  by  is  the  high  mountain 
which  separates  Pisa  from  Lucca,  as  Dante  men¬ 
tions.  But  in  the  winter  the  baths  are  deserted, 
and  there  is  merely  a  sleepy  little  village,  between 
which  and  Pisa  runs  a  small  stage. 

Sometimes  we  walked  out  across  the  fields,  until 
further  progress  was  checked  by  a  wide  irrigation 
ditch.  These,  everywhere,  divide  fields  and  run 
along  the  roadside  instead  of  fences.  Shade  trees 
are  few,  but  everywhere  are  rows  of  trees  with 
hardly  more  than  the  trunks  left,  nearly  all 
branches  pruned  away,  for  they  exist  merely  to 
support  the  ever  present  grapevines.  The  farm¬ 
houses  of  pink  or  yellow  stucco  blend  most  har¬ 
moniously  with  the  landscape. 

Then  within  easy  walking  distance  of  Pisa  is  the 
village  of  Barbariccina,  a  queer  combination  of 
Italians  and  English.  It  is  entirely  devoted  to 
horse-raising  and  winter  quarters  for  racing  horses. 
The  jockeys  are  almost  all  English,  as  are  the 
trainers.  These  have  houses  that  might  have  been 

[87] 


flKHmter  JHontfjsi 


transported  bodily  from  the  outskirts  of  London. 
They  have  the  same  little  yard  in  f ront,  with  shrub¬ 
bery  and  English-looking  plants,  the  same  wall 
with  iron  gates  exactly  in  the  middle,  the  whole  ap¬ 
pearance  of  the  houses,  even  to  the  toilet  table  set 
in  front  of  an  upstairs  window,  is  English.  The 
street  with  tiny  shops  and  lodgings,  the  old  stone 
church  with  its  tower  and  cracked,  noisy  chimes,  is 
strictly  Italian,  and  the  people  on  the  street  belong 
to  both  nationalities. 

The  favourite  promenade  of  Pisa  is  Lung’ Arno, 
and  on  Sundays  and  holidays  both  sidewalks  of  the 
fashionable  side  are  thronged  with  a  slowly  moving 
mass  of  people  of  every  walk  in  life,  while  the  mid¬ 
dle  of  the  three  bridges  over  the  river  is  crowded 
with  men  scanning  the  passers-by.  Beyond  the  city 
gates  at  the  eastern  end  lies  the  Viale  Umberto 
Primo,  a  continuation  of  Lung’ Arno,  with  a  pretty 
park  on  the  riverside,  and  villas  on  the  other.  This 
extends  for  several  miles  from  the  city,  and  termi¬ 
nates  in  a  circle,  with  a  coffee-house.  Half-way 
there  is  an  old  church  whose  tower  leans  almost  as 
much  as  the  celebrated  leaning  tower. 

The  celebrity,  unlike  some  others,  is  not  in  the 
least  disappointing.  It  leans  quite  as  much  as  one 
lias  imagined  that  it  did,  while  the  marble  of  which 
it  is  built  is  as  fresh  and  white  as  though  it  had  been 
erected  last  year.  A  small  admission  fee  is  charged 
for  those  wishing  to  climb  to  the  top,  and  not  less 
than  two  persons  are  admitted  at  a  time,  again  for 

[88] 


in  iptea 

fear  of  suicides.  The  stairs  wind  around  the  in¬ 
side  of  the  tower,  with  openings  on  the  galleries 
which  surround  it  outside  on  every  story,  of  which 
there  are  six,  and  there  are  windows  on  the  inner 
side  from  which  one  looks  down  into  the  well-like 
interior,  extending  from  top  to  bottom  without  a 
break  of  landing  or  projection.  The  mounting  of 
these  stairs  gives  a  very  curious  sensation,  for  the 
leaning  of  the  tower  is  plainly  felt.  At  last  the 
stairway  ends  in  a  little  circular  gallery,  both  out¬ 
side  and  inside.  Here,  in  openings  in  the  wall,  are 
hung  the  bells,  seven  of  them,  one  is  missing.  If 
one  is  not  satisfied  with  having  reached  this  gal¬ 
lery,  he  may  climb  a  ladder  on  the  outside  to  the 
very  top,  where  a  narrow  pathway  runs  around  the 
wall,  but  most  people  content  themselves  with 
the  gallery.  When  a  party  reaches  the  top,  one  of 
the  bells  is  set  in  motion  by  a  rope  which  hangs 
down  from  it  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  tower.  On 
festive  occasions  a  flag  floats  from  the  summit 
where,  in  olden  times,  signal  lights  were  burned. 

The  cathedral  group  of  buildings  all  stand  in 
a  large  open  square,  hounded  on  two  sides  by  the 
city  wall.  Directly  opposite  the  tower  is  the  beauti¬ 
ful  cathedral  of  white  marble.  A  broad  marble 
pavement  runs  all  around  it,  and  the  sunny  side  is 
a  favourite  playground  for  children,  while  beg¬ 
gars  and  idlers  lounge  against  the  cathedral  wall, 
only  rousing  when  a  stranger,  typifying  coin  for 
them,  appears  in  sight.  The  beautiful  bronze 

[89] 


Winter  J$tontf)£ 


doors  with  panels  depicting  sacred  subjects  were 
never  opened  during  my  stay  in  Pisa;  instead, 
smaller  doors  in  the  sides  of  the  building  were  used. 
The  interior  is  beautiful,  with  rounded  arches  sup¬ 
porting  galleries  on  each  side  of  the  nave.  Be¬ 
neath  these  galleries  the  walls  are  covered  with 
beautiful  frescoes  only  interrupted  by  altars,  each 
with  its  altar  painting,  for  the  windows  are  all 
above  the  galleries.  There  are  many  altars  and 
frescoes  in  the  transepts,  the  end  of  the  east  one 
being  filled  with  a  huge  tomb  to  two  of  the  numer¬ 
ous  Medici  family,  and  there  is  a  little  marble 
basin  for  holy  water,  surmounted  by  a  small  beauti¬ 
ful  figure  of  the  Virgin  and  Child,  said  to  be  the 
work  of  Michelangelo. 

There  is  so  much  to  see  in  this  cathedral  that  one 
can  spend  days  in  studying  it.  The  bronze  chande¬ 
lier  of  elaborate  workmanship,  whose  swinging 
motion  Galileo  studied,  Del  Sarto’s  exquisite  St. 
Agnes  and  her  lamb,  the  painting  hung  on  a  pillar 
on  the  other  side  of  which  is  a  queer,  almost  obliter¬ 
ated  fresco  of  a  fat  old  monk.  There  is  a  charming 
Madonna  by  Del  Vaga,  and  then  the  choir,  filled 
with  paintings.  At  each  corner  of  the  choir  rail 
are  fine  bronze  angels,  and  the  choir  stalls  deserve 
inspection.  The  backs  and  seats  are  inlaid,  the 
decorations  covering  a  wide  range  of  subjects, 
views  of  the  cathedral  and  baptistery,  and  even  ani¬ 
mals,  one  a  highly  lifelike  monkey,  gazing  at  his 
reflection  in  a  mirror.  Above  the  high  altar,  and 

[90] 


in  ipi*a 

those  in  both  transepts  are  quaint  old  mosaics  of 
the  Byzantine  period. 

It  is  difficult  to  find  an  hour  of  the  day  when  the 
cathedral  is  open  without  a  service  going  on,  but 
after  a  while  I  learned  that  that  need  not  interfere 
with  my  sightseeing.  The  first  time  I  went  with 
two  Italian  ladies.  High  mass  was  being  said. 
They  were  both  Catholics,  but  they  escorted  me  all 
over  the  cathedral,  save  into  the  choir  itself,  and 
pointed  out  pictures  in  an  ordinary  conversational 
tone,  contenting  themselves  merely  with  the  cus¬ 
tomary  genuflection  when  passing  in  front  of  the 
high  altar.  Other  worshippers  came  in,  knelt  for  a 
moment,  then  hurried  away,  while  those  kneeling, 
and  supposedly  praying,  followed  strangers  with 
their  eyes,  even  though  rosaries  might  be  slipping 
through  their  fingers  at  the  same  time.  My  friends 
assured  me  that  I  need  not  hesitate  to  go  into  the 
choir  whenever  it  was  empty,  even  if  service  were 
being  held  at  a  side  altar. 

The  exquisite  baptistery  is  open  without  charge 
all  day,  but  for  a  small  tip  the  custodian,  always  at 
hand,  will  give  a  musical  cry,  and  start  a  curious 
succession  of  echoes  back  and  forth  from  dome  to 
walls.  Here  is  the  splendid  marble  pulpit  with  its 
rich  reliefs,  a  masterpiece  of  Nicolo  Pisano. 

Close  by  is  the  famous  Campo  Santo,  open  with¬ 
out  charge  on  Sundays  and  holidays,  and  for  a 
small  admission  fee  on  other  days.  Queer  old  sculp¬ 
tured  tombs,  and  modern  monuments  to  various 

[91] 


©Htnter  Jfflontfjs 


celebrities  are  set  closely  along  the  galleries — it  is 
built  in  a  hollow  square — and  the  outer  wall,  un¬ 
broken  except  by  entrance  doors  and  two  chapels, 
is  completely  covered  by  the  famous  old  frescoes  in 
various  degrees  of  preservation.  Of  some  but  a 
few  fragments  remain,  and  others  have  been  so 
“  restored  ”  as  to  be  quite  glaringly  modern.  The 
“  Last  Judgment,”  the  most  prominent  feature  the 
monstrous  Devil,  a  beast  unlike  anything  known  to 
natural  history,  with  grinning  jaws,  is  very  dis¬ 
tinct.  A  remarkable  number  of  monks  and  nuns 
have  been  included  by  the  artist  with  the  damned, 
who  are  being  driven  on  to  their  doom  by  hideous 
lesser  devils,  with  long  tails,  and  armed  with  pitch- 
forks.  In  this  building  are  suspended  the  chains 
which  long  ago  guarded  the  river  approach  to  Pisa, 
and  which  were  captured  by  Florence  in  one  of  her 
victories.  After  the  union  of  Italy,  these  were  re¬ 
stored  by  the  victorious  city  to  her  former  bitter 
enemy,  and  peace  presumably  settled  down  upon 
the  rivals. 

No  one  can  escape  from  this  part  of  the  city, 
even  if  he  has  been  fortunate  enough  to  do  so  else¬ 
where,  without  encountering  a  goodly  number  of 
the  many  Pisan  beggars.  At  the  door  of  the  tower 
one  is  greeted  with  “Povero  cieco!”  (poor  blind 
man),  and  a  box  always  containing  a  few  clinking 
coins  is  shaken  at  one.  Another  povero  cieco 
stands,  wearing  a  green  shade  over  his  eyes,  at  the 
usually  opened  door  of  the  cathedral.  This  blind 

[92] 


in  $tsa 


man,  oddly  enough,  can  see  a  black-robed  priest 
long  before  he  mounts  the  steps,  and  never  com¬ 
mits  such  a  breach  of  etiquette  as  to  ask  him  for 
alms.  His  sight  is  equally  good  for  distinguishing 
foreigners  in  the  distance,  and  he  begins  his  cry  at 
once :  "  Povero  deco,  povero  deco!  ”  until  they  are 
near  enough  for  him  to  push  the  door  open  for 
them  with  one  hand,  while  he  shakes  his  money  box 
with  the  other. 

Still  another  blind  man  stands  at  the  door  of  the 
baptistery,  and  is  equally  discerning  in  his  choice 
of  persons  to  importune;  sometimes  if  the  day  be 
a  festival,  or  there  are  an  unusual  number  of 
strangers  in  Pisa,  there  is  an  extra  one  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  cathedral,  while  the  door  of  the 
Campo  Santo  is  guarded  by  a  young  blind  woman. 
Several  guides  are  always  at  hand  to  offer  their 
services,  and  peddlers  of  guide-books,  post  cards 
and  views  are  plentiful.  During  the  daytime 
Lung’ Arno  has  a  goodly  number  of  beggars,  and 
one  soon  learns  to  know  them.  There  are  the  very 
small,  hale  and  hearty  old  woman  with  a  beaming 
smile,  the  young  woman  with  two  children,  and  an 
elderly  man,  none  of  whom  looks  really  very  poor. 
These  are  the  regular  habitues,  reinforced  by 
many  others  when  many  strangers  have  been  seen 
arriving.  They  can  detect  strangers  a  mile  away, 
I  am  convinced,  and  seldom  importune  Italians. 
Some  of  them  will  follow  strangers  into  a  caffe  and 
gather  around  the  table,  to  say  nothing  of  the 

[93] 


Winter  jBontfjs; 


annoyance  they  give  those  sitting  at  tables  on  the 
sidewalk.  They  do  not  cease  their  importunities 
until  the  waiter  is  requested  to  send  them  away, 
and  he  seldom  does  this  until  so  requested,  for  he 
has  no  desire  to  interfere  with  their  business. 

These  caffes  with  tables  and  chairs  set  all  over 
the  sidewalk  in  front  of  them,  an  awning  above, 
with  canvas  curtains  hanging  down  at  the  edge  of 
the  street,  are  a  feature  of  Italian  towns  and 
cities.  In  the  afternoons  when  they  are  filled  with 
coffee-drinkers,  who  seldom  find  these  outdoor 
seats  too  cold,  even  in  winter,  pedestrians  must  turn 
out  into  the  street  to  pass,  but  no  one  minds. 

With  the  cathedral  group  people  usually  fancy 
that  they  have  exhausted  the  sights  of  Pisa,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  they  have  but  just  begun.  There  are 
about  one  hundred  churches,  and  while  some  are  un¬ 
interesting,  almost  all  contain  something  worthy 
of  attention.  One  comes  upon  them  at  every  turn, 
but  inquiry  elicited  the  information  that  many  are 
opened  only  on  festivals,  or  even  the  day  of  their 
name  saint  alone.  Brilliant  draperies  of  crimson, 
with  yellow  or  gold  fringe,  festooned  over  the  main 
entrance  proclaim  these  days.  The  larger  churches 
are  open  until  five  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  from 
early  morning  every  day,  save  for  an  hour  or  two 
in  the  middle  of  the  day,  but  to  see  the  smaller  ones 
one  must  watch  for  an  opportunity.  As  there  are 
no  remarkable  relics  in  Pisa  one  is  never  impor¬ 
tuned  by  sacristans,  but  whenever  a  church  is  open 

[94] 


in 


one  may  be  sure  to  find  at  least  one  beggar  outside, 
shaking  his  box.  Sometimes  a  group  interrupt  their 
animated  conversation  for  this  purpose,  and  com¬ 
posedly  resume  it  after  the  stranger  has  entered  or 
passed  on. 

After  the  cathedral,  chief  in  interest  is  the 
church  of  San  Stefano,  or  as  it  is  usually  called, 
“dei  Cavalieri”  (of  the  Cavaliers),  from  the  society 
of  which  it  was  formerly  the  church.  It  stands  on 
the  Piazza  dei  Cavalieri,  and  many  strangers  never 
see  it.  It  is  next  to  the  large  building,  now  a  gov¬ 
ernment  school,  formerly  the  meeting-place  of  the 
society,  as  a  tablet  on  the  outer  wall  sets  forth. 
This  building  and  the  next  one,  with  its  “  Tower  of 
Hunger,”  made  famous  by  Dante,  where  Count 
Ugolino  dei  Gherardeschi  and  his  children  were  im¬ 
prisoned  and  starved  to  death,  are  still  covered  with 
faded  frescoes.  The  church  is  large  and  square, 
with  a  long,  chapel-like  wing  on  either  side.  From 
one  of  these  wings  a  door  leads  into  a  small  chapel, 
and  over  this  door,  unless  it  has  recently  been  re¬ 
moved,  is  a  most  remarkable  and  hideous  decora¬ 
tion  of  paper  flowers.  The  main  part  of  the  church 
is  beautiful,  and  with  fewer  tawdry  altar  orna¬ 
ments  than  is  usual  in  Italy.  The  ceiling  is  deco¬ 
rated  with  large  frescoes  representing  the  media3val 
victories  of  Pisa  over  the  Turks.  On  the  walls  are 
fastened  bunches  of  flags  captured  at  the  same 
period,  and  below  are  some  curious,  carved  boat 
prows,  with  grotesque  figures  of  slaves. 

[95] 


OTmter  Jfflontfjs; 


Old  San  Frediano  is  another  church  interesting 
because  of  its  age  and  quaint  inscriptions  within. 
The  tiny  little  Santa  Maria  della  Spina,  close  to  the 
river  bank,  is  like  a  miniature  Milan  cathedral  out¬ 
side,  with  its  tiny  minarets  and  statues.  It  is  sel¬ 
dom  opened,  and  contains  but  a  single  small  room; 
it  was  built  as  a  votive  offering  after  one  of  the  fre¬ 
quent  inundations  of  the  river.  The  large  church 
of  the  Franciscans  contains  fine  stained  glass  and  < 
a  few  fragments  of  old  frescoes,  and  has  a  beauti¬ 
ful  old  tower  at  its  side,  built  by  Giotto,  and  rising 
many  feet  into  the  air.  One  Sunday  I  found  this 
church  quite  deserted  save  for  a  young  priest,  who 
offered  to  show  me  the  frescoes  in  the  Chapter 
House  of  the  adjoining  monastery.  They  had 
been  neglected  for  years,  and  dampness  had  sadly 
damaged  them,  but  enough  remains  to  give  one 
some  idea  of  how  magnificent  the  apartment  must 
once  have  been.  A  few  of  the  wall  frescoes  are 
fairly  well  preserved.  Only  one  garden  with  its 
surrounding  buildings  has  been  left  to  the  monks 
by  the  government.  The  other  one  has  been  trans¬ 
formed  into  a  public  museum,  and  the  inner  wall 
and  pavement  of  this  former  cloister  still  bear  in¬ 
scriptions  to  the  memory  of  former  brothers 
buried  beneath,  and  one  to  the  memory  of  an  Arch¬ 
bishop  who  gave  much  comfort  and  aid  to  the 
populace  during  a  pestilence. 

In  the  lower  story  of  the  museum  are  preserved 
fragments  of  pulpit  and  statues  from  the  cathedral 

[96] 


tn  ipitfa 


after  the  fire  which  seriously  damaged  it  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  together  with  a  reproduction  of 
the  exquisite  pulpit  similar  to  the  one  now  in  the 
baptistery,  the  work  of  Nicolo  Pisano,  while  this 
was  made  by  his  son.  The  British  Government 
wished  to  make  casts  of  this  small  model  for  the 
British  Museum,  and  permission  was  granted  only 
on  condition  that  two  casts  be  made  of  anything 
they  wished  to  copy,  one  to  be  the  property  of 
the  Italian  Government.  As  England  readily  as¬ 
sented  to  this,  Pisa  has  profited  thereby. 

Upstairs  are  a  number  of  large  rooms.  One  is 
hung  with  fine  tapestries,  and  cases  in  the  centre 
contain  some  beautifully  illuminated  books  of 
chants,  with  their  queer  black  squares  for  notes  on 
red  lines.  Another  room  is  filled  with  relies  of  the 
cathedral,  fragments  of  a  beautiful  cornice,  queer 
old  genealogical  charts,  showing  the  tree  of  David, 
and  priestly  robes,  still  gorgeous,  despite  the  dam¬ 
age  done  them  by  fire  and  water.  Then  come  rooms 
of  old  paintings,  few  of  them  the  work  of  great 
masters,  but  interesting  to  the  student  of  art,  with 
a  few  later  ones  that  would  appeal  to  any  picture 
lover.  The  large  canvas,  “  Sacred  and  Profane 
Love,”  by  Guido  Reni  well  illustrates  an  Italian 
trait.  Its  owner,  a  member  of  a  very  old  Italian 
family — his  palace  with  a  large  coat  of  arms  carved 
over  the  door  still  stands  on  Lung’ Arno,  although 
the  family  no  longer  owns  it — was  offered  a  large 
sum  of  money  by  an  English  collector  for  this 

[07] 


Winter  Jtlontljsi 


painting,  at  a  time  when  there  would  have  been  no 
difficulty  in  shipping  it  out  of  Italy.  But  although 
the  money  would  doubtless  have  been  welcome,  the 
offer  was  refused,  and  at  his  death  the  nobleman 
bequeathed  it  to  the  city  of  Pisa. 

Another  room  is  devoted  to  the  old  “  Game  of 
the  Bridge.”  In  olden  times  this  took  place  once 
a  year,  on  the  so-called  “  Middle  Bridge  ”  over  the 
Arno,  still  in  use.  The  combatants,  armed  with 
wooden  shields  and  broad  wooden  swords,  some¬ 
what  like  a  cricket  bat  in  shape,  all  gaily  painted  in 
various  designs,  were  grouped  in  companies,  under 
banners  bearing  the  same  designs  as  their  shields 
and  weapons,  and  divided  into  two  parties.  These 
approached  each  other  from  either  end  of  the 
bridge  and  a  struggle  f or  possession  followed,  dur¬ 
ing  which  spectators  thronged  the  balconies  of  the 
palaces  and  houses,  all  hung  with  flags  and  dra¬ 
peries  on  both  sides  of  the  river.  In  the  room  of 
the  museum  are  preserved  a  number  of  these 
banners,  shields  and  staves,  together  with  a  small 
model  of  the  bridge  occupied  by  the  conflicting 
parties,  and  several  paintings  depict  the  mock 
battle. 

Pisa  has  not  escaped  the  memorial  tablet  fever 
which  passed  over  Italy  a  few  years  ago,  and  some¬ 
times  shows  symptoms  of  breaking  out  now.  Tab¬ 
lets  set  in  the  walls  of  houses  indicate  the  one-time 
residence  of  Lord  Byron,  of  Alfieri,  the  birthplace 
of  Galileo,  etc.,  but  less  reasonable  are  others,  such 

[98] 


House  in  Pisa  where  Galileo  was  Born 


in  ipifia 

as:  “  From  this  balcony  the  celebrated  patriot  Maz- 
zini  addressed  a  crowd  of  citizens  ”  at  such  and 
such  a  time.  Two  tablets  testify  to  the  temporary 
residence  in  Pisa  of  the  fiery  socialist. 

After  .visiting  two  or  three  Italian  cities  one 
learns  to  expect  to  find  streets  or  piazzas  in  each 
one  bearing  the  names  of  Vittorio  Emanuele,  Gari¬ 
baldi,  Cavour,  a  Via  Palestro,  and  other  names 
commemorative  of  battles  for  the  cause  of  United 
Italy.  Always  is  there  a  Via  Venti  Settembre,  in 
memory  of  that  proud  twentieth  of  September 
when  the  Italian  troops  entered  Rome,  the  city 
henceforth  to  be  the  capital  of  that  Italy  which  had 
been  the  dream  of  its  leaders  for  years.  Surely 
there  is  not  a  city  in  Italy  without  its  statue  of  Vic¬ 
tor  Emanuel  II.  and  of  Garibaldi. 

After  wandering  about  Pisa  one  realizes,  if 
never  before,  the  ancient  power  and  wealth  of  the 
Medici  family.  The  cathedral  has  tablets  and  in¬ 
scriptions  on  the  inner  side  of  the  bronze  doors, 
commemorating  different  members.  Half  of  the 
churches  have  their  noticeable  coat  of  arms,  the  six 
balls  in  relief  on  a  shield  displayed  inside  or  out¬ 
side  the  building.  The  university  was  founded  by 
Cosimo  Medici,  always,  according  to  the  modest 
inscription,  “  most  clement,  most  wise,  most  munifi¬ 
cent,  and  liberal.”  Even  the  middle  bridge  has  a 
tablet  stating  that  it  was  built  by  a  “  most  clement,” 
etc.,  Duke  Ferdinand  Medici.  Sometimes  the 
shield  is  affixed  to  a  building  which  has  fallen  from 

[99] 


Minttr  Jflontfjs;  tn 

its  former  high  estate,  and  become  a  humble  shop 
or  stable. 

There  is  another  curious  sight  for  the  stranger. 
In  Pisa,  as  in  other  Italian  cities,  exists  a  society 
called  Frati  del  Misericordia”  or  brothers  of 
mercy,  which  provides  funerals  for  those  whose 
relatives  are  unable  to  do  so,  or  those  who  have 
neither  relatives  nor  friends.  The  members  of  the 
society  on  such  occasions  wear  long  black  gowns, 
strikingly  like  the  old-fashioned  shiny  black  gos¬ 
samer  waterproofs.  Some  carry  the  coffin  on  a 
stretcher  covered  with  long  black  drapery,  others 
precede  or  follow  it,  all  carrying  long  lighted  can¬ 
dles.  The  appearance  would  be  doleful  in  the  ex¬ 
treme,  were  it  not  for  the  faces  of  the  brothers, 
which  are  usually  complacent,  not  to  say  happy, 
since  they  are  seldom  friends  of,  or  especially  in¬ 
terested  in,  the  deceased. 

For  large  private  funerals  in  Italy,  it  is  not  at  all 
unusual  to  have  a  band  precede  the  carriages,  even 
when  the  deceased  had  no  military  connections. 
Women  never  accompany  the  dead  to  the  cemetery, 
that  is  left  to  the  male  members  of  the  family  and 
friends. 


[100] 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  majority  of  schools  in  Italy  are  now 
under  the  government,  which  employs  the 
teachers,  and  appoints  them  to  positions  in 
whatever  part  of  the  country  it  chooses,  although 
influence  will  frequently  secure  a  desired  locality, 
or  two  teachers  can  usually  exchange  similar  posi¬ 
tions  if  they  wish.  After  twenty-five  years  of 
service,  they  are  at  liberty  to  retire  with  a  pension 
amounting  to  a  fixed  percentage  of  their  salaries, 
and  this  percentage  is  increased  with  each  subse¬ 
quent  year  that  they  continue  teaching,  until  after 
forty  years  they  may  retire  with  full  pay. 

The  schools  of  the  various  grades,  up  to  and 
including  the  universities,  are  open  on  equal  terms 
to  both  sexes.  Higher  education  for  women  is 
becoming  more  popular  in  Italy,  and  the  days  when 
a  knowledge  of  French  and  accomplishments  were 
all  that  was  necessary  for  a  girl  are  vanishing. 
Many  think  that  people  have  gone  too  far  towards 
the  other  extreme  now,  and  that  mothers  are  forc¬ 
ing  their  daughters  in  their  ambition  to  have  them 
highly  educated.  One  little  girl  of  ten  whom  I 
knew  in  Rome  used  to  leave  the  house  for  her  con¬ 
vent  school  in  the  stage  sent  for  the  children  every 
morning  at  eight  o’clock,  returning  at  five  in  the 

[101] 


Staltan  traits 


afternoon,  after  a  recreation  hour  and  luncheon  at 
the  convent,  with  many  lessons  to  be  studied  that 
evening.  There  were  a  number  of  girl  students  at 
the  Pisa  University,  and  an  Italian  professor  was 
amazed  to  learn  that  women  are  not  admitted  to  all 
colleges  and  universities  in  America. 

“  And  yet,”  he  said,  “  we  are  taught  to  consider 
you  such  a  progressive  and  enterprising  nation!” 

However,  the  younger  generation  will  have  to 
grow  up,  or  perhaps  one  must  wait  for  even  the 
next  one  before  many  results  of  this  education  will 
be  seen.  It  is  certainly  true  that  the  average  well¬ 
born  Italian  woman  is  anything  but  well  educated, 
and  her  conversation  is  too  apt  to  be  mere  chatter. 

All  students  entering  an  Italian  university  are 
supposed  to  have  studied  Latin  for  at  least  seven 
years,  and  almost  all  educated  Italians  speak 
French  well;  there  are  lectures  on  French  litera¬ 
ture,  but  no  chair  of  either  English  or  German  in 
the  University  of  Pisa. 

Here  degrees  are  given  in  medicine,  law,  letters, 
agriculture,  and  diplomas  as  veterinarians.  On 
one  day  in  the  early  winter  all  the  men  students 
appear  on  Lung’ Arno,  wearing  velvet  caps,  blue, 
green  or  red  in  color,  according  to  the  course  they 
are  pursuing,  but  after  this  one  occasion  they  sel¬ 
dom  wear  them  in  public.  Some  of  these  students 
during  my  winter  in  Pisa,  organized  several  mass 
meetings,  held  in  the  opera  house,  to  protest  against 
Austrian  aggressiveness,  always  hotly  resented  by 

[  102  1 


ani)  Customs; 


the  younger  element  in  Italy,  as  well  as  by  many 
older  men.  The  subject  of  one  such  meeting,  very 
largely  attended  by  men  and  women,  although  it 
was  a  rainy  day,  was  the  attempt  of  the  Austrian 
government  to  suppress  the  Italian  language  in 
schools  and  colleges  in  what  are  known  as  the 
Italian- Austrian  provinces.  This  was  deeply  re¬ 
sented  by  the  numerous  citizens  of  these  provinces 
who  are  Italians,  either  by  birth  or  sympathies. 
Far  more  diplomatic  and  gratifying  to  the  Italians 
was  the  treatment  of  a  similar  question  in  Malta 
by  the  English  government.  But  Austria,  though 
Italy’s  ally,  seems  to  let  no  occasion  for  irritation 
pass  without  making  use  of  it.  An  incident  which 
occurred  in  Fiume  a  couple  of  years  ago  is  another 
instance  of  this.  A  private  club  was  to  give  a  ball, 
and  among  the  decorations  of  the  hall  where  this 
ball  was  to  be  held  were  portraits  of  the  Italian 
king  and  queen.  The  police  authorities  interfered, 
and  ordered  these  portraits  removed,  and  in  conse¬ 
quence  the  club  abandoned  the  ball. 

Although  the  course  is  not  as  yet  in  the  least 
popular  with  Italian  women,  a  number  of  women 
students  from  other  countries,  and  especially  from 
Russia,  have  been  graduated  from  the  medical 
department  of  the  University  of  Pisa.  This,  like 
the  College  of  Agriculture  and  the  veterinary 
department,  occupies  a  new  building,  while  stu¬ 
dents  of  law  and  letters  meet  for  lectures  in  the  old 
building  founded  by  Cosimo  Medici,  a  stone  struc- 

[  103  ] 


Stalian  Erattfi 


ture  built  around  an  open,  paved  court,  the  atrium, 
surrounded  with  loggie,  from  which  open  short 
passages  leading  to  the  various  lecture  rooms. 

The  schools  open  early  in  September,  and  con¬ 
tinue  open  through  June,  quite  as  with  us;  the 
session  is  from  half -past  eight  until  four,  with  an 
hour  for  dinner.  The  university,  on  the  contrary, 
does  not  open  until  the  middle  of  November,  closing 
at  about  the  same  time  of  the  year  as  the  schools,  but 
lectures  are  given  all  day  long,  some  as  early  as 
seven  o’clock  in  the  morning.  At  half -past  seven 
every  week-day  morning  the  bell  clangs  loudly  from 
the  tower  of  the  Pisa  University. 

There  are  many  more  holidays  than  with  us. 
Three  weeks  at  Christmas,  a  week  at  carnival  time, 
ten  days  at  Easter,  and  many  national  and  church 
holidays.  The  birth  of  a  little  royal  princess  was 
the  occasion  for  a  three  days’  holiday.  Had  it  been 
the  birth  of  a  prince  there  would  probably  have  been 
holiday  for  a  week. 

The  lecture  rooms  are  bare  apartments,  with 
stone  floors,  wooden,  pew-like  benches,  always  with 
a  rack  in  front  for  writing,  and  usually  a  foot¬ 
stool,  while  there  is  a  kind  of  high  pulpit  for  the 
lecturer.  The  students  assemble,  all  wearing  wraps 
in  winter,  rubbing  their  hands,  for  there  is  no  heat 
in  the  building.  A  few  minutes  after  the  hour  set, 
the  professor’s  bidello,  a  kind  of  servant  in  livery, 
enters  cap  in  hand  from  the  professor’s  entrance — 
there  is  always  another  entrance  for  students.  The 

[  104  ] 


anb  Customs 


bidello  is  usually  some  old  government  pensioner. 
He  opens  the  pulpit  door,  closes  a  window  or  turns 
on  the  electric  light  if  necessary.  Then  comes  the 
professor,  and  all  students  rise,  remaining  standing 
until  he  bids  them  be  seated.  After  removing  the 
professor’s  overcoat,  and  hanging  it  and  his  hat  on 
a  peg,  the  bidello  shuts  the  professor  into  his  pulpit, 
hands  him  his  manuscript,  or  anything  he  requires, 
then  tiptoes  out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door 
behind  him.  The  lecture  then  begins,  and  pens 
fly  rapidly  over  paper,  taking  notes.  Recitations 
in  the  literature  classes,  the  only  ones  of  which  I 
can  speak  from  personal  knowledge,  never 
occurred.  Occasionally  the  professor  asked  a  ques¬ 
tion,  usually  involving  criticism  of  an  author’s 
works,  but  this  was  rare.  Whenever  an  Italian 
makes  a  speech,  delivers  a  lecture,  or  reads  anything 
whatsoever  aloud,  his  speech  is  marked  by  a  pecu¬ 
liar  rhythm,  a  cadence,  impossible  to  describe,  but 
very  effective  in  the  beautiful  Italian  tongue. 
Whether  this  is  taught  or  simply  acquired  naturally 
I  cannot  say.  When  speaking  in  public  the  Italian 
is  apt  to  speak  somewhat  slowly,  so  it  is  not  as  diffi¬ 
cult  for  the  foreigner  to  understand  at  least  the 
gist  of  his  speech,  as  is  the  case  in  some  other  lan¬ 
guages.  The  literature  lectures  were  delivered  so 
slowly — always  read — that  it  was  possible  for  one 
to  take  them  down  almost  word  for  word  in  long- 
hand.  At  the  close  the  professor  rose,  bade  us 
good  morning,  the  bidello  reappeared,  assisted  the 

[105] 


italtan  traits 


professor  with  his  coat,  and  the  latter  then  left  the 
room,  whereupon  the  students  were  free  to  do  the 
same. 

The  students  often  attended  six  and  seven  hour 
lectures  a  day.  The  university  library,  occupying 
the  greater  part  of  the  second  story,  is  open  as  a 
reading-room  to  anyone  whomsoever,  whether 
native  or  foreigner,  but  only  professors  in  the 
schools  and  university,  or  students  of  the  latter, 
may  take  books  away  from  the  building. 

While  speaking  of  the  university,  it  would  be 
unfair  not  to  mention  the  portiere.  This  striking 
personage,  very  fine  looking,  with  an  imposing 
white  moustache,  wearing  a  neat  blue  uniform,  and 
a  cap  gorgeous  with  gold  braid,  had  a  small  office 
under  the  portico,  but  he  usually  stood  at  the 
entrance  from  the  narrow  little  street  on  which 
the  building  faces,  exchanging  a  good  day  with  the 
students  as  they  came  and  went,  a  salutation  sup¬ 
plemented  if  they  were  women,  by  a  flourishing 
bow.  His  manners  when  questioned  were  those  of 
a  courtier,  and  after  a  few  days  he  seemed  to  know 
exactly  to  which  classes  each  one  belonged.  The 
great  Galileo  was  once  a  student  here,  and  in  the 
large  lecture  hall  is  a  statue  of  him  amid  busts  and 
tablets  in  honour  of  other  distinguished  men. 

During  the  months  passed  in  Pisa  I  witnessed 
various  celebrations.  First  came  a  grand  review 
by  visiting  generals  of  the  two  regiments  stationed 
in  Pisa — the  barracks  of  one  adjoin  and  include  a 

[  106  ] 


anti  Customs 


picturesque  old  castle  on  the  Arno,  dating  from 
the  wars  of  the  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines.  This 
review  took  place  outside  the  city  gates,  on  the 
broad  Viale  Umberto  Primo,  and  spectators  filled 
windows,  lined  sidewalks,  thronged  the  park,  while 
carriages  were  drawn  up  in  the  side  streets.  It 
was  a  beautiful,  bright  autumn  day,  and  the  sight 
was  a  pretty  one.  The  infantry  in  their  blue-grey 
uniforms  with  red  stripes  and  cordings,  the  artil¬ 
lery,  with  yellow  trimmings,  vied  with  the  gorgeous 
carabinieri ,  guards  and  firemen,  who  were  there  to 
preserve  order.  The  guards,  in  dark  blue  uniforms 
and  helmets,  correspond  to  our  police.  The  cara¬ 
binieri  are  a  kind  of  soldier-police,  and  as  they 
serve  as  guards  for  the  royal  family  rank  second 
only  to  the  cavalry.  They  are  officered  by  gradu¬ 
ates  of  the  war  schools,  who  rank  with  officers  of 
the  regular  army.  The  men  are  always  seen  in 
couples,  and  usually  but  two  are  stationed  at  a 
small  place,  unless  unusual  occurrences,  either  fes¬ 
tive  or  troublous,  demand  reinforcements.  They 
are  fine  looking  men,  a  picked  lot,  and  most  polite. 
Their  undress  uniform  is  black,  with  red  stripes 
down  the  trousers,  and  long  swallow-tailed  black 
coats  with  white  trimmings,  black  capes,  and  odd, 
broad-brimmed  black  beaver  hats,  turned  sharply 
up  in  front  and  back,  with  a  red,  white  and  blue 
cockade  in  front.  But  their  gala  attire  is  most 
gorgeous.  A  red  border  runs  around  the  coat  tails, 
with  a  silver  ornament  on  the  end  of  each,  silver 

[  107] 


Italian  ^Traits 


buttons  and  an  elaborate  festooning  of  cord  and 
tassels  across  the  chest,  white  for  the  privates,  silver 
for  the  petty  officers,  further  ornament  the  coats, 
while  a  red,  white  and  blue  feathery  spike,  fully 
ten  inches  high,  stands  straight  up  in  front  of  their 
beaver  hats. 

The  bersaglieri,  one  branch  of  the  army,  lightly 
armed,  and  trained  to  advance  at  a  run,  wear  the 
oddest  head-gear.  Black  felt  hats  with  a  narrow 
round  brim,  like  women’s  sailor  hats,  are  covered 
with  a  great  mass  of  cocks’  plumes,  hanging  far 
over  one  side  and  down  on  the  shoulder.  Their 
uniforms  are  dark  blue  with  crimson  trimmings. 
The  firemen  wear  a  gay  uniform  of  light  blue 
trimmed  with  green,  and  carry  short  swords. 

As  for  the  commissioned  officers,  they  are  too 
gorgeous  for  words.  The  aristocratic  cavalry  wear 
pale  blue  trousers  and  black  coats,  with  silver  braid 
on  their  sleeves  varying  from  the  one  stripe  of  the 
youngest  officer,  the  sotto  tenente,  up  to  a  more 
elaborate  display  for  those  of  higher  rank,  and  with 
cuffs,  collar,  and  stripes  on  trousers  of  different 
colors  according  to  the  regiment  to  which  they 
belong,  but  always  distinguishable  from  other 
branches  of  the  service  by  having  two  stripes  on 
their  trousers,  instead  of  one,  both  privates  and 
officers.  The  artillery  consider  themselves  the 
brains  of  the  army,  as  the  cavalry  are  the  dandies. 
Their  uniform  is  no  less  striking,  black  with  orange 
trimmings,  silver  buttons  for  ordinary  wear,  and 

[  108  ] 


anb  Custom* 


gold  ones  for  full  dress.  The  infantry  are  not 
nearly  as  striking  looking,  being  frequently  the 
smallest  men.  Their  uniform  is  blue-grey  with 
red  trimmings.  This  is  the  easiest  and  cheapest 
branch  of  the  service  for  officers.  No  one  can 
become  an  officer  of  cavalry  without  independent 
means.  It  would  be  impossible  for  the  sotto  ten- 
ente,  corresponding  to  our  second  lieutenant,  to  live 
on  his  pay  alone,  $35  a  month,  with  no  quarters 
provided  for  him,  no  rations,  save  in  time  of  war, 
and  even  his  own  horses  to  buy,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  expensive  uniforms.  For  this  reason  the  cav¬ 
alry  is  especially  unpopular  with  the  lower  classes, 
especially  in  the  towns  where  no  cavalry  is  sta¬ 
tioned,  and  it  is  the  branch  of  the  army  most 
frequently  attacked  in  Parliament  by  the  socialist 
leaders. 

These  cavalry  officers  take  a  severe  course  of 
study  at  the  military  academies  before  graduation, 
then  a  course  at  the  School  of  Application  in  Rome, 
where  all  sorts  of  difficult  feats  in  horsemanship 
are  accomplished,  and  even  then  the  ambitious 
young  officer  has  not  finished.  Although  promo¬ 
tion  is  sure,  and  in  accordance  with  fixed  regula¬ 
tions,  if  he  wishes  rapid  advancement  he  studies 
hard  for  the  difficult  examinations  of  the  War 
School  at  Turin,  where  successful  competitors  may 
enter  three  years  after  their  graduation  from  the 
other  war  schools.  Upon  completing  the  three 
years’  course  at  this  advanced  school,  which  in- 

[  109  ] 


Italian  tents 


eludes,  besides  things  pertaining  to  the  science  of 
war,  proficiency  in  French,  German  and  English, 
his  advancement  is  much  more  rapid,  and  he  may 
aspire  to  the  Stato  Maggiore,  the  general  staff,  the 
highest  rank  in  the  army,  with  its  sober  uniform  of 
black,  and  narrow  gold  braid  trimmings. 

The  Italian  government  does  everything  to 
encourage  its  officers  to  become  proficient  in  the 
modern  languages,  and  it  is  not  difficult  for  an 
officer  to  secure  a  year’s  leave  for  the  purpose  of 
visiting  a  foreign  country  and  mastering  its 
language. 

As  officers  are  required  to  wear  their  uniforms 
on  all  occasions,  save  when  on  leave — and  even  then 
they  are  expected  to  do  so  on  holidays — they 
greatly  enliven  the  scene.  Then,  too,  the  military 
tailors  certainly  cut  clothes  better  than  those  who 
make  the  civilians’  suits,  the  borghese.  An  elderly 
American  woman  once  remarked  that  she  had  set¬ 
tled  to  her  own  satisfaction  the  reason  for  the,  to 
our  eyes,  remarkable  cut  of  the  average  Italian 
man’s  garments.  “  I  am  sure,”  said  she,  “  that 
their  mothers  make  their  clothes!” 

And  what  musical  voices  the  officers  have !  Even 
when  giving  orders  to  troops  they  do  not  seem  to 
raise  them  noticeably,  yet  every  word  carries.  The 
men  have  much  more  agreeable  voices  than  the 
Italian  women,  for  when  the  latter  become  ani¬ 
mated  or  excited,  that  is  to  say  most  of  the  time, 
they  are  apt  to  key  their  voices  very  high. 

[110] 


anb  Customs 


The  laws  requiring  military  service  of  all  men, 
with  such  exceptions  as  an  only  son,  or  one  who 
is  the  sole  support  of  a  parent,  etc.,  are  the  cause 
of  a  very  mixed  regimental  personnel,  as  far  as 
social  position  is  concerned.  The  regulation 
requirement  of  three  years  of  service  may  be 
shortened  to  about  one  year  by  the  payment  of  a 
moderate  sum  of  money,  and  with  the  upper  classes 
it  usually  is  so  shortened.  Nor  is  the  government 
unaccommodating.  If  a  young  man  wishes  to 
study  at  the  university,  or  has  already  begun  his 
studies  there,  he  can  frequently  be  assigned  to  a 
regiment  in  a  university  town,  where  he  may 
arrange  to  attend  lectures  at  the  same  time  that 
he  is  fulfilling  his  military  service. 

The  mixed  personnel  is  extremely  useful  at 
times.  For  instance,  one  of  those  strikes,  unfor¬ 
tunately  becoming  common  in  Italy,  occurred 
among  the  butchers  in  a  certain  town.  A  regiment 
of  cavalry  was  stationed  there,  and  promptly  the 
officers  called  for  those  of  the  soldiers  who  were 
butchers  by  trade.  These  men  took  possession  of 
the  shops,  and  superintended  by  their  officers, 
received  the  carcasses  sent  in,  cut  them  up,  and 
sold  them  to  customers  until  the  strike  was  over. 
At  another  time,  a  bakers’  strike  enlisted  the  ser¬ 
vices  at  bread-making  of  such  soldiers  as  were 
bakers.  The  innocent  parties,  the  people  at  large, 
were  not  inconvenienced  by  differences  between 
employers  and  employees,  there  was  no  question  of 

'[in] 


Staltan  traits 


“  scabs,”  nor  did  the  intervention  of  the  soldiers 
apparently  prevent  the  final  amicable  adjustment 
of  matters  between  the  parties  concerned. 

The  regimental  bands  are  always  utilized  for 
open-air  concerts  for  the  people,  held  in  some  cen¬ 
tral  piazza.  Those  in  the  larger  cities,  and  notice¬ 
ably  in  Milan  and  Genoa,  are  very  good  indeed, 
the  selections  well  chosen. 

As  in  other  continental  countries,  no  officer, 
unless  he  have  private  means,  may  marry  a  dower¬ 
less  girl.  The  amount  of  dower  or  private  fortune 
required  by  the  government  before  permission  to 
marry  is  given,  varies  with  the  different  branches 
of  the  army,  and  is  largest  for  the  lowest  rank  of 
officer,  diminishing  through  the  upper  grades,  for 
a  captain  even  in  the  cavalry  receives  enough  pay 
to  support  him.  Parents,  however,  do  all  in  their 
power  to  provide  their  daughters  with  dowries, 
since  otherwise  the  girls’  chances  of  marrying  are 
small.  Having  once  expressed  surprise  at  the 
engagement  of  a  pretty  and  attractive  young  girl 
to  an  insignificant,  ordinary  man  of  but  limited 
means,  the  rejoinder  was:  “Oh,  but  she  has  no 
dowry,  she  could  not  hope  to  do  better!  ”  and  this 
is  the  usual  view,  few  caring  to  contemplate  the 
prospect  of  spinsterhood,  with  its  lack  of  liberty 
until  advanced  age  be  reached. 

The  poor  Italian  girls !  What  a  sorry  time  most 
of  them  have  if  they  belong  to  the  upper  classes. 
There  is,  by  the  way,  a  simple  means  for  the 

[112] 


ant)  Customs; 


foreigner  to  discover  to  which  class  an  Italian  girl 
belongs.  If  she  wears  a  hat  it  is  usually  safe  to  con¬ 
clude,  save  for  a  few  exceptions  met  in  the  larger 
cities,  that  she  is  a  signorina,  or  young  lady.  If 
she  is  a  daughter  of  the  people  she  will  not  wear 
a  hat,  for  although  the  better  class  of  working  girls, 
the  dressmakers,  or  clerks  in  the  larger  shops,  dress 
more  neatly  and  present  a  better  appearance  than 
some  of  the  young  ladies,  it  is  most  unusual  for 
them  to  wear  hats,  either  in  summer  or  winter. 
The  older  women  wear  shawls  or  scarfs  on  their 
heads,  their  daughters  upon  entering  churches,  if 
the  parish  priest  is  particular  about  the  rule  for  no 
woman  to  enter  a  church  uncovered,  lay  a  handker¬ 
chief  on  their  heads  until  they  leave  the  building. 
In  Genoa  these  girls  wear  a  picturesque  bit  of 
black  lace  or  a  black  tulle  scarf  over  their  heads, 
but  elsewhere  they  are  usually  bareheaded. 

The  signorina  must  never  be  seen  alone  on  the 
streets,  even  in  broad  daylight.  She  may  go  out 
with  one  or  two  girl  acquaintances,  if  the  family 
is  a  broad-minded  one,  but  usually  her  mother  or 
a  maid  accompanies  her.  When  she  goes  to  see  girl 
friends,  it  is  the  same,  although  sometimes  the 
mother  will  take  her  to  the  friend’s  house  and  leave 
her,  returning  later  to  take  her  home  again.  There 
are  exceptions  to  this  rule,  and  they  are  gradually 
becoming  more  common.  In  the  larger  cities  some 
girls  are  permitted  far  more  liberty,  owTing  to  the 
influence  of  Americans  and  English,  but  in  the 

[113] 


Staltan  traits 


smaller  places,  and  especially  in  the  south  of  Italy, 
the  rule  holds  good,  unless  the  girl  be  a  student- 
essa  "  or  "  professoressa ."  The  former  may  be  a 
student  at  a  university  or  a  conservatory,  when  it 
is  apparently  thought  that  she  can  take  care  of 
herself,  and  apparently  she  is  able  to  do  so.  The 
"  professoressa  ”  is  of  course  a  teacher.  The  blame 
for  this  restriction  of  liberty  cannot  be  said  to  rest 
entirely  with  the  parents.  When  a  girl  of  twenty- 
five  declares  that  she  would  be  afraid  to  go  out 
alone  in  the  afternoon,  and  in  a  small  city  where 
she  has  lived  for  years,  what  can  one  say?  Italian 
girls  think  Americans  very  brave  and  daring,  but 
seem  to  admire  these  qualities  as  something  unat¬ 
tainable.  The  Italian  men  frequently  speak  with 
admiration  of  the  American  woman’s  ability  to 
take  care  of  herself,  to  travel  alone,  etc.  They 
shrug  their  shoulders  over  the  inability  of  their  own 
women  to  do  likewise,  but  imply  that  it  would  be 
vain  to  expect  them  to  do  so. 

Of  course  these  Italian  girls  are  never  allowed 
to  receive  a  man  caller  alone,  not  even  a  fiance. 
The  mother  is  always  present,  always  accompanies 
them  on  walks,  and  frequently  all  three  pay  calls 
together,  on  which  occasions  the  engaged  couple 
sometimes  avail  themselves  of  the  opportunity  to 
converse  together  in  whispers.  They  do  occasion¬ 
ally  snatch  a  moment  alone  together,  and  a  Nea¬ 
politan  woman  told  the  writer  how  she  managed 
this  when  she  was  engaged. 

[in] 


Atrium  of  the  University  of  Pisa 


anb  Customs; 


“  My  fiance  called  every  day  at  a  certain  hour/' 
she  said.  “  I  was  always  ready  and  waiting,  but 
mother  frequently  was  not  quite  ready  to  receive 
him,  so  I  used  to  rush  to  the  drawing-room  as  soon 
as  he  rang  the  door  bell,  and  sometimes  it  would 
be  almost  five  minutes  before  my  mother  ap¬ 
peared.” 

However,  as  in  other  countries,  even  in  Italy 
young  lovers  do  find  means  for  communicating 
with  each  other.  There  is  generally  some  old  ser¬ 
vant  who  may  be  trusted  to  go  to  the  post  office 
with  letters,  and  fetch  others  sent  ferma  in  posta, 
or  to  be  called  for.  The  window  where  such  letters 
are  delivered  always  has  a  long  line  of  waiting  ones 
before  it  in  an  Italian  post  office.  One  ingenious 
young  man  hit  upon  another  plan.  The  father  of 
the  girl  of  his  choice  was  bitterly  opposed  to  him, 
the  girl,  unwilling  to  carry  on  a  clandestine  corre¬ 
spondence.  The  father  made  no  objections  to  an 
occasional  post  card,  however,  since  that  seemed  a 
most  harmless  correspondence.  One  day  a  coloured 
post  card  of  unusually  dark  tones  arrived.  A  boat 
formed  part  of  the  picture,  and  on  this  dark  brown 
boat  was  Avritten  in  fine  letters,  which  could  not 
be  seen  save  in  a  strong  light :  “  Look  under  the 
stamp.”  The  girl  did  not  even  see  it  for  several 
days.  When  she  did,  she  discovered  that  the  stamp 
was  attached  by  the  four  corners  only,  and  easily 
removed.  Beneath  it  was  written  in  tiny  charac¬ 
ters  quite  an  epistle  in  itself,  and  after  that  each 

[115] 


Italian  traits 


card  bore  similar  messages  beneath  the  postage 
stamp.  The  amount  of  writing  the  young  man 
contrived  to  get  into  the  small  space  at  his  disposal 
was  really  astonishing. 

After  marriage  a  woman  may  go  out  alone  in 
the  daytime  unless  her  husband  object — he  usually 
does  object  in  the  southern  portions  of  Italy.  In 
this  case  she  remains  indoors,  save  when  he  takes 
her  out,  or  possibly  allows  her  to  go  with  some  older 
woman,  his  or  her  mother,  unless  or  until  she  has 
children.  A  child  of  however  tender  age  is  appar¬ 
ently  considered  an  all  sufficient  chaperon  in  Italy. 
A  woman’s  dowry  does  not  belong  to  her,  unless 
so  stipulated  in  the  marriage  contract,  but  neither 
is  it  the  husband’s  property.  It  is  set  aside  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  family,  and  if  a  separation 
takes  place — there  are  no  divorces  in  Italy — it  is 
usually  returned  to  her. 

There  is  more  reason  for  the  providing  of  girls 
with  dowries  in  Italy  than  many  may  realize.  Busi¬ 
ness  prospects  for  Italian  young  men  are  poor  in 
their  own  country,  a  fact  which  sends  so  many  of 
them  out  of  the  country  to  seek  their  fortunes  in 
newer  lands.  If  a  son  is  heir  to  one  of  the  large 
estates,  or  to  a  well-established  business,  his  future 
is  fairly  well  secured;  in  the  latter  case,  unless  the 
business  be  unusually  large  it  will  hardly  be  suffi¬ 
cient,  however,  f or  several  brothers.  There  are  the 
learned  professions,  the  law,  medicine  and  engi¬ 
neering,  for  fewer  and  fewer  men  of  good  family 

[116] 


anti  Customs; 


adopt  the  church,  the  clergy  in  Italy  being  chiefly 
recruited  from  the  peasant  class,  for  whom  it  means 
not  only  a  livelihood,  but  great  social  advancement 
and  education  as  well.  But  with  these  learned  pro¬ 
fessions  go  far  greater  handicaps  than  in  our  coun¬ 
try.  Not  only  must  the  young  man’s  family  be 
able  to  send  him  through  the  university,  and  there 
are  not  the  numbers  of  scholarships  of  our  univer¬ 
sities,  but  afterwards  he  has  no  new  sections  of  the 
country  in  which  to  settle  and  begin  his  practice. 
Many  young  doctors  take  the  army  or  navy  medi¬ 
cal  examinations  and  enter  one  of  these  branches 
of  the  service,  for  although  the  pay  is  not  large  it 
affords  a  livelihood,  and  promotion  and  increase 
of  pay  is  sure,  the  social  position  is  excellent,  and 
the  work  not  arduous.  A  great  many  students 
graduate  in  law,  as  awocati,  and  this  might  seem 
a  supply  far  in  excess  of  the  demand,  but  all  the 
best  paying  of  the  government  positions  in  the 
various  ministries,  even  in  the  railroads  and  postal 
departments,  are  given  to  awocati.  A  young  man 
graduated  from  the  ginnasio,  which,  it  must  be 
understood,  means  that  he  has  received  an  education 
corresponding  to  that  received  by  students  after 
about  two  years  in  one  of  our  colleges,  unable 
to  pursue  his  studies  in  the  university,  and  enter¬ 
ing  the  government  service,  may,  by  the  time 
he  is  forty,  be  in  receipt  of  a  salary  of  some 
two  hundred  and  fifty  francs  a  month,  hut  hardly 
more.  This  is  scarcelv  a  tempting  prospect,  and 

[117] 


Staltan  Pratts: 


if  lie  marries  before  that  time,  on  his  still  smaller 
salary,  it  will  he  seen  how  necessary  it  is  that  his 
bride  should  have  at  least  a  small  dowry. 

Those  physicians  who  accept  professorships 
in  the  medical  departments  of  the  universities 
rarely  practice  medicine  at  the  same  time,  the 
two  lines  of  work  being  usually  kept  separate 
in  Italy.  The  prospects  of  the  naval  officer  are 
somewhat  similar  to  those  of  the  army  surgeons, 
save  that  they  are  better,  for  the  reason  that  when 
on  duty  on  his  ship  at  least  the  young  naval  officer 
has  no  expenses  for  board  and  lodging.  There  is 
one  profession  which  as  yet  is  not  overcrowded  in 
Xtafy,  nor  are  the  expenses  for  entering  it  as  great 
as  the  others.  This  is  the  mercantile  marine. 
There  are  several  schools  for  the  training  of  the 
would-be  young  navigator.  Upon  graduation 
from  one  of  these,  he  ships  for  six  months  or  so  as  a 
common  sailor  on  board  any  ship  that  will  take  him, 
and  pays  a  small  sum  to  cover  the  expenses  of  his 
food,  since  he  is  too  unaccustomed  to  a  sailor’s  work 
to  be  considered  useful.  Gradually,  if  he  shows 
ability,  he  is  promoted  to  able  seaman,  perhaps 
boatswain,  receiving  pay  in  consequence.  Then  he 
takes  another  examination,  and  is  a  full-fledged 
ship’s  officer,  with  the  title  of  captain,  and  empow¬ 
ered  by  law  to  command  his  own  ship,  should  one 
be  offered  him,  when  possibly  not  more  than 
twenty-one,  the  minimum  age.  Naturally  this 
would  be  but  a  small  lake  steamer  or  a  sailing 

[118] 


anb  Customs 


vessel,  and  only  influence  would  secure  him  this. 
But  to  enter  the  service  of  one  of  the  large  trans¬ 
atlantic  steamship  companies  he  will  have  no  diffi¬ 
culty  in  securing  the  position  of  third  or  fourth 
officer,  according  to  the  number  of  officers  carried 
on  that  ship.  It  seems  that  as  yet  the  supply  has 
•never  equalled  the  demand  in  this  branch  of  the 
service,  both  in  the  navigating  and  engineering 
departments.  The  Ligurians,  being  born  sailors, 
enter  these  branches  in  large  numbers,  the  Neapoli¬ 
tans  less  frequently,  oddly  enough,  for  they,  too, 
are  fond  of  sailing,  at  least  in  and  near  their  beauti¬ 
ful  bay.  On  the  other  hand  the  common  sailors 
are  usually  meridionali. 

To  select  occupations  or  professions  for  a  large 
family  of  boys  in  Italy  must  be  a  problem.  The 
girls  must  of  course  be  married  off  if  possible,  for 
Italian  parents  are  most  reluctant  to  see  their 
daughters  attempt  to  earn  their  own  living,  even 
if  it  is  really  necessary.  In  the  latter  case  the 
girls  usually,  even  now,  resort  to  embroidery, 
lace-making,  or  some  similar  work  that  can  he 
done  in  their  own  homes,  and  inconspicuously.  The 
married  woman  compelled  to  supplement  her  hus¬ 
band’s  earnings,  or  the  widow  without  sufficient 
means,  may  take  boarders  or  lodgers,  but  if  she 
have  daughters  of  a  marriageable  age  she  thereby 
seriously  endangers  their  chances  of  marriage, 
which  seems  most  unjust.  Of  course  now  and  then 
a  brave  young  woman  breaks  away  from  these  old- 

[119] 


Italian  Pratts: 


fashioned  ideas,  and  earns  a  living  in  business,  as 
a  writer — there  was  one  woman  journalist  in  Rome, 
who  attended  the  parliamentary  sessions  to  report 
them,  sitting  in  the  press  box  where  all  the  other 
occupants  were  men — there  are  women  painters — 
rarely  indeed  does  one  find  a  woman  of  good  family 
on  the  Italian  stage,  whether  operatic  or  dramatic — 
but  these  are  still  exceptions  to  the  rule. 

The  lack  of  choice,  even  for  young  men,  may  be 
shown  by  the  case  of  a  family  of  six  sons  living 
near  Naples.  Five  of  the  six  were  in  the  mercantile 
marine,  either  as  engineers  or  navigating  officers. 

To  return  to  Pisa,  the  first  real  holiday  after  my 
arrival  was  Christmas  Day.  Immediately  before 
this,  or  on  New  Year’s  Day,  one  should  call  on  one’s 
entire  visiting  list,  and  exchange  the  compliments 
of  the  season  by  mail  with  out-of-town  friends  and 
relatives.  The  exchange  of  gifts  is  usually  limited 
to  the  family,  for  it  is  more  customary  to  remember 
friends  on  their  birthdays,  either  the  actual  day,  or 
their  saint’s  day,  than  on  Christmas  Day. 

The  Christmas  services  in  the  cathedral  were  dis¬ 
appointing.  High  mass  was  at  eleven  o’clock,  but 
there  were  no  greens,  no  decorations  of  any  kind, 
the  music  but  ordinary,  while  the  people  drifted  in 
and  out,  but  few,  and  these  almost  all  old  peasants, 
remaining  for  the  entire  mass.  It  was  not  to  be 
compared  for  beauty  and  impressiveness  with  simi¬ 
lar  services  in  Roman  Catholic  churches  in  this 
country.  The  peasant  class  is  still  religious,  the 

[  120  ] 


and  Customs 


servant  in  the  family  with  whom  I  lived  used  to 
go  to  mass  every  morning  before  coming  to  her 
work,  but  save  for  some  exceptions,  one  would 
hardly  say  the  same  of  the  upper  classes.  They 
do  not,  as  a  rule,  even  in  Lent,  pretend  to  observe 
the  rule  of  their  church  as  to  eating  no  meat  on 
Fridays ;  on  Good  F riday  in  Rome  I  saw  Catholics 
eating  meat  quite  openly.  The  Sicilians  and 
Neapolitans  are,  however,  much  more  strict  as  to 
religious  observances  than  the  northern  Italians. 

Surely  nowhere  could  one  have  had  more  delight¬ 
ful  February  weather  than  that  year  in  Pisa.  Such 
bright,  sunshiny  days,  so  warm,  with  all  windows 
thrown  wide  open.  Early  in  the  month  violets 
and  little  pink-tipped  daisies  blossomed,  flowering 
almond  trees  were  a  mass  of  pink  blossoms.  The 
birds  had  been  with  us,  and  the  hardier  varieties  of 
roses  had  bloomed  all  through  the  winter,  but  the 
birds  now  sang  more  blithely,  and  it  was  a  joy  just 
to  be  alive.  We  took  long  walks  out  into  the  sur¬ 
rounding  country,  for  the  cold  winds  and  occa¬ 
sional  rains  which  my  little  Italian  friend  could 
never  be  persuaded  to  face,  were  over.  The  whole 
family  considered  it  an  act  of  madness  to  brave 
the  elements  merely  for  the  sake  of  exercise.  In 
fact,  a  hard  rain  was  deemed  sufficient  excuse  to 
break  any  engagement,  but  when  the  weather  was 
fine  my  friend  would  take  the  longest  walks. 

All  over  Italy  oxen  are  used  a  great  deal,  and 
rather  especially  in  Tuscany,  it  seemed  to  me.  We 

[121] 


Italian  traits: 


used  to  see  numbers  of  them  in  our  country  walks, 
or  coming  into  town.  Almost  all  were  snowy  white, 
very  pretty,  with  their  great  gentle  brown  eyes, 
their  mild  faces,  as  they  ambled  clumsily  along. 

Besides  the  walks,  there  were  various  little  trips 
to  be  taken.  One  day  we  went  to  the  sea  in  a  puffy 
little  steam  tram,  divided  into  first  and  second  class 
compartments,  as  on  the  railroads.  The  distance 
to  the  sea  from  Pisa  is  about  eleven  miles.  The 
road  runs  near  the  river,  with  glimpses  of  the  king’s 
camel  farm,  the  animals  grazing  placidly  near  the 
water’s  edge.  Then  there  were  frequent  views  of 
the  canal  running  to  Livorno.  Sometimes  its 
waters  are  quite  hidden  by  the  banks,  and  one  sees 
merely  a  portion  of  a  sail  skimming  along,  appar¬ 
ently  over  fields.  Pisans  tell  with  joy  of  an 
English  tourist  who  saw  these  sails  without  know¬ 
ing  of  the  existence  of  the  canal.  When  he  pub¬ 
lished  the  usual  book  he  observed:  “  In  this  part  of 
Italy  ploughing  is  done  by  means  of  sails  as  a  pro¬ 
pelling  power,,”  I  should  not  wish  to  vouch  for  the 
truth  of  this  tale,  but  as  the  Italians  say,  “  Se  non  e 
vero  e  ben  trovato  ” 

Where  the  Arno  empties  into  the  sea  is  the  little 
settlement  of  summer  villas  and  apartments  known 
as  the  Marina  di  Pisa .  Back  from  the  houses  are 
pine  groves,  and  it  is  a  popular  resort  for  Pisans. 

There  is  but  little  to  interest  the  tourist  in 
Livorno,  or  Leghorn,  half  an  hour’s  ride  by  rail 
from  Pisa.  The  utter  transformation  of  this  name 

[  122  ] 


anb  Customs 


always  seems  to  me  unjustifiable,  especially  as 
the  Italian  name  presents  no  difficulties  in  pro¬ 
nunciation. 

Livorno,  then,  has  been  the  birthplace  of  several 
celebrities;  at  one  time  Marconi  studied  here.  A 
canal  intersects  it,  with  high  stone  walls  confining 
the  water,  and  flights  of  steps  leading  down  to  its 
level.  There  is  a  fine  harbour  and  lighthouse,  and 
down  near  the  docks  is  one  of  the  curiosities  of  the 
place,  a  large  statue  of  the  Grand  Duke  F erdinand 
I.,  with  four  Turkish  slaves  writhing  in  bonds  at 
his  feet.  A  delightful  ride  by  electric  tram  may  be 
taken  out  to  Avignano,  a  summer  resort  with  hotels 
and  bathing  establishments.  After  leaving  the  city 
the  track  runs  close  to  the  sea,  past  the  beautifully 
situated  Naval  Academy,  and  through  Ardenza,  a 
settlement  of  charming  villas,  with  a  picturesque 
park  of  palms  and  other  tropical  plants  extending 
for  some  distance  between  villas  and  sea. 

Livorno  is  rather  unpleasantly  conspicuous  for 
its  anarchists  and  socialists.  The  Italian  socialist 
frequently  seems  to  our  minds  at  least  to  hold  the 
same  views  as  an  anarchist,  and  the  Anglo-Saxon 
socialist,  unless  of  an  extreme  type,  would  hesitate 
to  call  him  brother.  Disturbances,  even  bomb 
throwing,  in  this  city  are  too  frequent  for  comfort. 

Another  day  wre  took  the  little  tram  from  Pisa 
in  an  opposite  direction,  and  an  hour’s  ride 
brought  us  into  the  mountains— to  Calci,  where  is 
a  once  famous  and  extensive  Carthusian  monastery. 

[123] 


Italian  Craits 


Although  it  was  a  mild  spring  day,  entering  the 
building  one  was  chilled.  A  large  portico  with  a 
lodge  where  admission  tickets  are  purchased  admits 
to  a  square,  grassy  court.  The  porter  led  us  across 
this,  through  another  door,  and  into  the  main  build¬ 
ing,  built  around  an  open  court,  with  a  marble 
loggia  surrounding  it.  All  is  of  marble,  walls, 
floor,  pavements.  On  the  lower  story  many  doors 
lead  into  the  apartment  of  the  monks.  This  is  one 
of  the  suppressed  monasteries,  and  at  the  time  of 
our  visit  there  were  but  seven  monks  and  the  same 
number  of  lay  brothers  who  do  the  work.  These 
have  permission  to  end  their  days  here,  after  which 
there  will  be  no  more,  and  the  government  will  take 
full  possession  of  the  property. 

The  court  is  an  attractive  place,  with  an  old  well, 
and  rose  bushes,  but  quite  deserted.  Our  guide 
took  us  into  one  of  the  unoccupied  apartments, 
consisting  of  a  study,  with  sliding  window  opening 
into  the  tiny  entry,  through  which  window  food 
may  be  passed  to  the  occupant;  there  was  a  bed¬ 
room,  a  small  corridor  for  exercise,  and  a  tiny 
garden  with  covered  balcony.  The  rooms  had  very 
little  furniture;  a  table  which  could  be  let  down 
against  the  wall,  a  narrow  bed,  a  study  table  and 
chair,  but  there  was  a  fireplace  in  the  study.  Each 
tiny  walled-in  garden  had  its  own  well,  and  the 
garden  we  saw  was  gay  with  flowers,  and  a  lemon 
tree  was  trained  against  the  wall. 

These  monks  never  speak,  save  for  an  hour  once 

[  124  ] 


anb  Customs 


a  week,  and  are  supposed  to  spend  their  time  in 
prayer  and  meditation.  They  meet  daily  in  the 
chapel  for  prayers,  and  are  most  picturesque  in 
their  long,  full  white  robes.  On  the  second  floor 
we  passed  down  long  draughty  corridors,  all  mar¬ 
ble,  and  hung  with  quaint  old  drawings.  We 
viewed  innumerable  private  chapels — each  brother 
has  his  own — almost  all  containing  a  fair  altar 
painting  and  a  solitary  prie  Dieu.  Then  there  is 
the  large  chapel,  with  a  splendid  wrought  silver 
altar  and  some  fine  paintings,  and  the  refectory 
covered  with  frescoes.  We  were  shown  the  guest 
chambers,  very  bare  and  cold,  with  portraits  of 
an  Austrian  grand  duke  and  his  duchess,  who  once 
stayed  in  the  monastery,  and  the  dining  room,  with 
the  long  table  and  faded  red  velvet  chairs  used  by 
them. 

We  were  glad  to  get  out  into  the  bright  sun¬ 
shine,  and  walk  about  the  little  village,  almost 
surrounded  by  mountains,  against  which  the  great 
white  monastery  looks  very  effective,  especially  in 
the  pink  sunset  glow.  The  houses  of  this  village 
were  mostly  detached  two-story  buildings.  Above 
the  second  story  was  a  room  without  walls,  merely 
supporting  pillars  surmounted  by  the  roof,  consti¬ 
tuting  a  kind  of  loggia.  Here  the  olives  were  piled 
and  left  to  dry,  and  we  saw  great  heaps  of  them 
waiting  to  be  pressed  out  for  oil,  for  they  are 
gathered  in  the  early  autumn. 

I  never  acquired  a  taste  for  the  fresh  olives,  hut 
[  125  ] 


Italian  traits 


it  was  quite  otherwise  with  the  cooking.  Many 
people  fancy  that  Italian  cookery  implies  that 
everything  is  swimming  in  oil.  This  was  not  my 
experience.  True,  a  great  deal  of  salad  is  eaten, 
and  oil  is  used  freely  in  dressing  it,  but  I  have 
seldom  found  it  used  profusely  in  cooking.  They 
told  me  that  much  more  oil  is  used  in  the  south 
than  in  the  north,  but  many  families  never  use  it 
for  frying,  believing  it  unwholesome.  But  the  oil 
is  so  delicious  than  many  learn  to  like  it  even  for 
frying.  In  winter  there  are  not  the  varieties  of 
vegetables  in  the  Italian  bill  of  fare  to  which  we 
are  accustomed,  for  canned  goods  are  not  in  such 
common  use.  We  had  cabbage,  a  great  deal  of 
spinach  and  other  greens,  cauliflower,  served  with 
oil  and  vinegar,  tomatoes,  much  smaller  than  ours 
and  sweeter,  lettuce,  beets  and  turnips,  the  latter 
often  sliced  and  fried.  Potatoes  were  served  as  any 
other  vegetable,  by  no  means  with  every  dinner. 
Then  there  was  a  kind  of  celery,  broad,  and  not 
more  than  five  inches  in  length.  In  Home  this  was 
served  with  the  fruit  when  raw,  when  stewed,  as 
a  separate  course.  It  was  in  Rome  that  I  first  ate 
spinach  chopped  very  fine  and  boiled  with  raisins. 
In  Liguria  they  eat  pumpkins  as  a  vegetable, 
stewed  and  prepared  in  other  ways.  We  had  a 
great  deal  of  soup,  the  thick  kind,  sometimes  with 
bread  broken  into  it,  and  called  minestra,  or  the 
thin  broth  or  brodo.  One  soup  was  full  of  rice  and 
large  pieces  of  cabbage  leaves,  and  always  grated 

[  126  ] 


anb  Customs 


cheese  is  passed  with  it.  Then  there  are  the  typical 
Italian  dishes,  the  various  kinds  of  pasta ,  spa¬ 
ghetti,  maccaroni,  etc.,  always  served  with  cheese, 
whatever  else  they  may  be  cooked  with,  the  delicious 
risotto ,  its  principal  ingredient  rice,  and  polenta. 
We  had  sweet  potatoes,  too,  but  served  boiled  as  a 
dessert,  quite  as  are  chestnuts.  I  never  saw  a  pie, 
or  elaborate  loaf  or  layer  cakes.  We  had  pickles 
and  pickled  fruits  sometimes,  but  corn  starch,  gela¬ 
tine,  and  consequently  the  various  dishes  made  with 
them  were  quite  unknown  in  Pisa  at  least.  Tiny 
cups  of  black  coffee  were  brought  to  the  bedrooms 
early  in  the  morning.  Then  came  the  caffe  latte 
(coffee  and  hot  milk,  mostly  the  latter),  and  rolls 
or  bread.  A  hearty  lunch  with  black  coffee,  and 
late  dinner  is  the  rule,  and  of  course  native  wine, 
according  to  the  locality,  with  both  meals.  In  the 
cities  now  the  water  is  usually  pure.  The  govern¬ 
ment  has  done  much  for  the  country  in  this  respect. 
Naples,  in  particular,  has  an  unusually  good  sup¬ 
ply,  hut  the  poorest  Italian  must  have  his  maccaroni 
or  bread  and  cheese,  and  his  wine.  Other  things  he 
will  do  without  if  necessary,  but  one  can  sometimes 
strike  a  would-be  emigrant  with  consternation  by 
suggesting  that  he  may  find  in  America  that  wine 
is  quite  beyond  his  means.  Yet  cases  of  intoxi¬ 
cation  are  by  no  means  common — in  fact,  rare. 

That  year  Pisa  determined  to  attempt  a  revival 
of  the  old-time  carnival.  On  Tuesday  afternoon 
of  carnival  week,  five  carriages  filled  with  maskers 

[127] 


Jtaltan  Pratts 


drove  up  and  down  Lung’ Arno,  which  was 
thronged  with  people.  Men  in  white  coats  and 
caps  offered  various  sweets  for  sale,  but  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  find  anything  much  more 
solemn  than  those  maskers.  They  threw  a  few 
confetti ,  which  were  scrambled  for  by  the  small 
boys,  but  it  was  anything  but  festive.  That  even¬ 
ing  a  masked  ball — veglione — was  held,  but  the 
maskers  were  few  and  far  between,  and  chiefly 
confined  to  members  of  the  operetta  company,  the 
numerous  dancers  being  respectable  working  peo¬ 
ple  in  their  holiday  clothes.  Still  the  experiment 
was  repeated  the  following  Sunday  with  better 
success.  Nineteen  carriages  of  maskers  drove  up 
and  down,  some  ridiculous  disguises  were  worn  by 
university  students,  there  was  more  jollity  and  car¬ 
nival  spirit,  more  confetti  throwing,  a  greater  dis¬ 
play  of  flowers.  But  is  carnival  ever  held  on  the 
first  Sunday  in  Lent  in  any  other  country?  They 
told  me  that  in  Milan  carnival  lasts  during  the 
entire  first  week  of  Lent,  and  from  subsequent 
observations  it  seems  safe  to  conclude  that  the  light¬ 
hearted  Italians  find  it  necessary  to  shorten  and 
enliven  this  supposedly  penitential  season  as  much 
as  possible. 

The  opera  season  opened  on  a  Sunday,  always 
a  gala  night  in  Italy.  Boxes  are  considered  the 
most  desirable  posts,  but  the  manner  of  securing 
them  is  a  peculiar  one  in  Pisa,  as  in  some  other 
towns.  Almost  all  the  boxes  of  the  theater  are 

[  128  ] 


anb  Customs 


the  property  of  those  stockholders  who  subscribe 
to  the  fund  raised  as  guarantee  for  the  manager 
who  brings  the  company,  or  of  the  owners  of  the 
opera  house.  The  few  remaining  ones  are  sub¬ 
scribed  for  by  the  general  public.  Consequently 
there  are  few  if  any  on  sale  at  the  box  office.  But, 
as  in  Pisa,  only  two  operas  were  given  during  the 
season,  few  boxholders  cared  to  attend  every  per¬ 
formance,  and  in  shop  windows  along  Lung’ Arno 
there  were  seen  signs:  “  Box  keys  for  sale.”  One 
inquires  until  a  suitable  position  is  found,  and  then 
bargains  until  an  agreement  is  reached.  Then,  too, 
certain  employees  of  the  theatre  have  boxes  at  their 
disposal,  the  custodian  of  the  building  always  has 
one  for  the  season,  and  from  them  those  who  know 
how  can  secure  boxes  at  very  moderate  terms. 

The  theatre  is  large  for  a  city  like  Pisa.  As 
usual,  the  parquet  is  perfectly  level.  Two-thirds 
of  this  are  occupied  by  the  orchestra  seats  or  pol- 
trone,  usually  occupied  by  men  or  foreign  women, 
although  it  is  perfectly  proper  for  any  woman  to 
sit  in  them.  Back  of  these  seats  is  the  space 
reserved  for  those  who  stand,  and  on  the  opening 
night  it  was  gay  with  uniforms,  both  of  officers 
and  privates.  F our  tiers  of  boxes  only  wide  enough 
for  two  chairs  in  the  front  of  each,  run  around  the 
house,  and  above  is  a  gallery.  But  very  few  ladies 
were  in  evening  dress,  and  save  in  the  large  cities 
unmarried  women  wear  gowns  but  slightly  dccol- 
letee.  One  is  not  so  beset  by  attendants  as  in  the 

[129] 


Italian  Pratts: 


French  theatres.  Programmes  and  books  of  the 
opera  are  on  sale  and  the  boxes  are  opened  by  an 
attendant  who  will  expect  a  tip  later  on,  that  is  all. 
The  lessee  takes  charge  of  the  key  of  the  box,  and 
returns  it  later  to  the  owner.  During  intermissions 
a  waiter  comes  to  take  orders  for  cakes,  and 
receives  many,  while  gentlemen  visit  from  box  to 
box. 

The  opera  that  evening  was  a  new  one,  and  there 
were  some  doubts  as  to  how  it  would  succeed,  for 
it  was  hinted  by  those  who  had  heard  it  elsewhere 
that  the  music  was  “  heavy.”  Encores  were,  how¬ 
ever,  frequent,  some  of  them  against  the  conduc¬ 
tor’s  evident  wish,  but  he  was  unable  to  withstand 
the  determination  of  the  audience,  and  the  hisses 
whenever  he  tried  to  continue  without  the  desired 
repetition.  This,  and  the  intolerably  long  waits 
between  the  acts,  made  the  hour  very  late  when 
the  performance  came  to  a  close,  and  it  was  well 
past  nine  before  it  began.  The  performance  was 
smooth,  in  spite  of  the  gloomy  forebodings  as  to 
the  orchestra’s  ability.  There  had  been  much  criti¬ 
cism  of  the  colonel  of  the  infantry  regiment  sta¬ 
tioned  in  Pisa,  because  he  had  refused  to  allow  some 
members  of  the  regimental  band  to  lend  their  ser¬ 
vices  to  the  conductor.  It  seemed  that  the  brass 
had  made  sad  work  of  the  score  at  rehearsals,  and 
he  had  applied  for  the  loan  of  some  of  the  colonel’s 
soldiers,  and  had  been  refused.  This  conductor 
was  a  very  young  man,  a  pupil  of  Mascagni.  The 

[  130  ] 


anb  Customs 


artists,  too,  were  all  young,  and  fairly  good,  the 
scenery  better  than  I  had  seen  at  one  of  the  smaller 
theatres  of  Milan,  but  the  costumes,  especially  those 
of  the  women,  were  plain  in  the  extreme.  The 
prima  donna  of  the  cheapest  road  company  in 
America  would  have  scorned  those  worn  by  this 
prima  donna  of  the  carnival  season. 


U1813 


CHAPTER  VII. 


NO  description  of  Florence,  however  glow¬ 
ing  and  enthusiastic,  can  possibly  seem  ex¬ 
aggerated  to  those  who  see  it  for  the  first 
time,  especially  if  that  first  time  is  in  spring.  Long 
before  the  city  came  in  sight  the  view  from  the  car 
windows  was  most  attractive.  The  mountains  on 
the  left — they  seemed  so  low,  yet  were  so  covered 
with  snow  as  to  resemble  a  snow  bank  against  the 
deep  blue  sky — had  no  trace  of  green  or  vegetation 
on  them.  Nearer  were  the  high  hills,  some  green, 
some  bare  and  rocky,  crowned  with  picturesque 
little  walled  villages,  or  a  solitary  castle,  small 
farmhouses,  or  the  larger  ones  with  house,  stables 
and  farm  buildings  all  under  one  great  roof,  some¬ 
times  surrounded  by  a  massive  stone  wall,  with 
high  bell  tower,  possibly  belonging  to  a  private 
chapel.  Always  in  the  smallest  settlement  was  a 
large  stone  church.  Fruit  trees  were  everywhere  a 
mass  of  pink  or  white  blossoms  on  this  day  in 
early  March,  although  the  temperature  seemed  no 
warmer  than  during  the  preceding  month.  Spring 
is  gradual  and  beautiful  in  Italy.  The  thermome¬ 
ter  takes  no  such  startling  leaps  and  plunges  as 
with  us.  Nearing  Florence,  the  road  passed  a 
number  of  hat  factories,  one  of  the  leading  indus¬ 
tries  of  this  section. 


[132] 


The  Palazzo  Vecchio,  Florence 


Spring  in  Jflorence 

The  first  glimpse  of  the  city,  almost  entirely  sur¬ 
rounded  by  blue  hills,  is  attractive.  The  train  rolls 
into  a  large,  busy  station,  a  porter  gets  one’s  lug¬ 
gage,  usually  without  any  formality  of  opening  it. 
Few  foreigners  are  troubled  by  these  examinations 
for  town  duties,  yet  a  young  Italian  cavalry  officer 
of  my  acquaintance  returning  home  for  a  vacation, 
had  to  stand  by  in  silence  while  the  entire  contents 
of  his  trunk  were  emptied  out  on  the  station  plat¬ 
form,  and  nothing  dutiable  having  been  found,  as 
was  hardly  probable  with  an  army  officer,  they  were 
replaced  none  too  carefully. 

Florence  is  a  mixture  of  fine  modern  buildings, 
broad  streets  and  piazze  and  narrow,  winding 
streets  of  gloomy  old  palaces  or  apartments  with 
tiny  dark  shops  beneath,  and  old  squares  whose 
every  stone  could  tell  of  memorable  events. 

In  the  modern  section  of  the  city  one  hears  Eng¬ 
lish  so  much  spoken  that  one  could  almost  fancy 
oneself  in  an  English  or  American  city  were  it  not 
for  the  names  on  signs  and  street  corners.  There 
are  English  churches,  libraries,  typical  English  tea 
rooms,  and  then,  turning  a  corner  one  comes  upon 
some  venerable  church,  or  catches  a  glimpse  of  the 
beautiful  Palazzo  Vecchio,  with  its  graceful  tower 
and  peculiar  architecture,  which  stands  out  promi¬ 
nently  in  almost  any  view  of  the  city  from  the  hills 
about  Florence.  Nothing  can  make  the  cabmen 
seem  other  than  Italian,  with  their  cracking  whips, 
and  hails  of  “  Vuole,  vuole,  signora 1”  Some  of 

[133] 


Spring  ©aps 


these  are  quite  gaily  attired  in  bright  blue  coats, 
red  vests,  and  tall  old  silk  hats  with  a  bright  rosette 
on  one  side.  Others  wear  faded  old  liveries,  and 
still  others  ordinary  suits.  The  cabs  in  Italy  are 
almost  invariably  victorias  or  shabby  old  barouches, 
and  vary  greatly  in  condition,  but  seldom  are  as 
shabby  as  those  frequently  seen  in  Paris. 

Only  a  few  hundred  feet  away  from  the  Piazza 
Vittorio  Emanuele,  in  the  heart  of  the  shopping 
district,  a  large  square  with  a  statue  of  Victor 
Emanuel  in  the  centre,  and  the  place  where  bands 
play  of  an  evening,  is  the  cathedral  group.  Trolley 
cars  clang  past  the  old  buildings  now,  and  tourists 
swarm  in  front  of  the  famous  bronze  doors  of  the 
baptistery,  examining  them  with  opera  glasses,  and 
trying  to  pick  out  the  different  subjects  or  figures 
of  the  groups. 

This  baptistery  is  not  as  perfect  in  its  exquisite 
simplicity  as  the  Pisan  baptistery,  but  it  contains 
statues  by  Donatello.  At  the  risk  of  scandalizing 
admirers  of  the  cathedral  I  confess  that  I  found  it 
disappointing,  and  could  not  reconcile  myself  to 
the  colours,  the  pink,  green  and  white  marble. 
Giotto’s  tower  beside  it,  although  built  of  the  same 
marbles,  looks  light  and  airy,  but  the  great  mass  of 
the  cathedral  seems  almost  too  suggestive  of  con¬ 
fectionery.  Seen  from  a  distance,  for  instance, 
from  San  Miniato,  the  colours  blend,  and  the  effect 
is,  to  my  mind,  far  more  pleasing  than  at  close 
range. 


[  134  ] 


in  ^Florence 


The  interior  is  rather  severe.  There  are  few 
paintings;  the  small,  celebrated  portrait  of  Dante, 
with  view  of  Florence  in  the  background,  and 
scenes  from  the  “  Divine  Comedy,”  a  small  bit  of 
fresco  by  Michelino,  with  one  or  two  paintings,  the 
large  mosaic  over  the  main  entrance,  a  number  of 
large  statues  of  saints  and  prophets  and  a  wonder¬ 
ful  “  Pieta  ”  by  Michelangelo,  placed  back  of  the 
choir,  constitute  the  chief  decorations.  The  walls 
are  grey-green,  but  recently  in  repairing  the  front 
wall  a  bit  of  fresco  was  discovered  under  this  paint, 
and  it  is  thought  possible  that  the  walls  of  the  in¬ 
terior  may  be  found  to  have  once  been  frescoed  and 
merely  covered  with  this  outer  coating.  To  remove 
it,  however,  will  be  an  expensive  and  lengthy  task, 
so  the  world  is  not  likely  to  know  for  some  time 
whether  this  is  or  is  not  the  case.  The  pulpit  is 
about  half  way  up  the  main  aisle,  and  in  Lent  a 
large  canvas  is  stretched  above  it  and  over  a  por¬ 
tion  of  the  nave,  and  midday  services  with  preaeli- 
ing  by  monks  and  priests,  famous  for  their  sermons, 
are  held  here  and  largely  attended.  It  gives  one 
a  strange  feeling  to  stand  listening,  and  realize  that 
on  that  very  spot  Savonarola  thundered  forth  his 
fiery  denunciations.  One  has  but  to  change  in  im¬ 
agination  the  costumes  of  the  throng,  and  the  scene 
would  be  the  same. 

In  the  old  convent  of  San  Marco,  now  a  govern¬ 
ment  museum,  after  seeing  the  wonderful  frescoes 
by  Fra  Angelico,  cell  after  cell  each  containing  one, 

[135] 


spring  3Bapsi 


and  sometimes  two,  to  say  nothing  of  the  many 
downstairs  in  cloister  and  hall,  one  is  shown  a  por¬ 
trait  of  the  great  Savonarola  himself,  with  auto¬ 
graphs,  letters,  garments  worn  by  him,  and  several 
horrible  pictures  depicting  his  tragic  death,  all  in 
the  rooms  which  he  once  occupied.  After  the  Fra 
Angelico  frescoes  in  this  building,  and  his  wonder¬ 
ful  “  Crucifixion,”  with  a  spirituality  in  the  Christ 
figure  that,  it  seems  to  me,  no  painter  has  ever  sur¬ 
passed,  the  Ghirlandaio  “  Last  Supper  ”  is  most 
noteworthy.  This  is  one  of  the  celebrated  six  rep¬ 
resentations  of  the  same  subject  to  be  found  in 
Florence,  two  being  by  this  artist.  It  is  interesting 
to  note  the  elaborate  backgrounds  of  these  two — 
the  other  is  in  the  former  convent  of  Foligno,  now 
another  state  museum — orange  trees  visible  through 
windows,  the  table-cover  elaborately  embroidered, 
one  picture  with  two  gorgeous  peacocks  resting  on 
window  sills,  the  other  with  a  sleek  cat,  with  eyes 
turned  expectantly  on  Judas.  One  of  the  other  six 
has  both  a  cat  and  a  dog.  The  Fra  Angelico  fres¬ 
coes  in  San  Marco  would  seem  enough  in  them¬ 
selves  to  be  the  work  of  a  lifetime,  without  the 
many  paintings  by  this  gentle  artist. 

It  requires  weeks  even  to  visit  the  sights  of  Flor¬ 
ence,  to  say  nothing  of  trying  to  familiarize  oneself 
with  them,  unless  one  goes  about  it  in  the  man¬ 
ner  of  the  personally  conducted  parties  which  one 
meets  everywhere. 

When  we  heard  these  loud-voiced  men  and  their 
[136] 


in  Jflorence 


parties  approaching  we  escaped  them  by  simply 
enduring  their  presence  in  one  room,  waiting  a  few 
minutes  after  they  had  left  it,  and  then  we  could  be 
quite  sure  of  seeing  them  no  more  in  that  particu¬ 
lar  gallery,  for  they  would  be  rooms  ahead,  and  out 
of  the  building  long  before  us. 

The  attendants  in  these  galleries  are  always 
ready  to  answer  questions  about  the  paintings  or 
other  works  of  art  intelligently  and  politely.  No¬ 
tices  in  almost  every  gallery  in  Italy  inform  the 
visitor  that  fees  are  not  expected  by  these  men,  and 
they  never  ask  for  them,  but  few  to  whom  they  ren¬ 
der  a  service,  however  trifling,  would  grudge  them 
the  coin  which  is  not  refused,  did  they  know  what 
wages  they  receive.  In  Florence  the  galleries  are 
open  from  ten  until  four,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  many 
of  the  custodians  can  add  to  their  earnings  by  out¬ 
side  work,  and  they  receive  but  two  francs  a  day. 
Out  of  this  sum  they  must  put  by  forty  centesimi 
a  day  for  uniform,  pension  fund,  etc.,  leaving  their 
daily  earnings  but  a  trifle  over  a  franc  and  a  half 
on  which  to  support  their  families.  One  of  these 
custodians  had  been  such  for  twenty-five  years. 
He  said  that  as  a  boy  he  always  loved  pictures  and 
art,  so  chose  this  occupation.  As  he  was  bright  and 
intelligent,  he  had  much  interesting  information  to 
impart,  and  had  been  stationed  in  art  galleries  and 
museums  in  various  parts  of  Italy,  by  no  means  in 
Florence  alone. 

In  Florence  I  saw  the  first  heating  apparatus  for 
[  137] 


spring 


galleries.  In  the  Belle  Arti,  with  very  large,  lofty 
rooms  and  corridors,  were  placed  in  the  largest 
rooms  a  few  so-called  stoves.  They  were  brass 
cylinders  about  two  feet  in  height,  and  one  foot 
in  diameter,  filled  with  hot  ashes.  Even  in  March, 
bright  as  the  sunshine  was  outdoors,  a  wrap  was 
necessary  when  one  entered  the  galleries  and 
churches,  and  after  standing  for  a  couple  of  hours 
on  the  stone  floors,  sometimes  relieved  by  strips  of 
cocoa  matting,  one  is  usually  quite  chilled  and  glad 
to  go  out  into  the  sunlight  again,  and  walk  briskly. 

It  is  true  that  one  must  pay  for  admission  to  all 
the  sights  save  those  of  landscape  in  Italy  if  one’s 
time  is  limited.  The  admission  fee  to  galleries 
ranges  from  half  a  franc  to  one  franc,  while  a  very 
few,  such  as  some  of  the  smaller  convents,  may  be 
visited  for  twenty-five  centesimi.  But  if  one  is  not 
pressed  for  time  they  may  all  be  visited  without 
charge  on  Sundays  and  holidays.  There  is  no 
charge  for  visiting  churches,  save  a  few  in  Venice, 
but  if  one  wishes  to  see  the  sacristy  or  some  chapels, 
or  have  the  curtain  drawn  away  from  a  veiled  pic¬ 
ture,  of  which  there  are  not  a  great  many,  a  tip 
must  be  given  to  the  sacristan,  varying  according 
to  the  amount  to  be  seen.  In  one  church  in  Flor¬ 
ence  I  was  importuned  by  what  appeared  to  be  a 
small  boy  of  eight  to  let  him  show  me  a  chapel.  I 
thought  him  very  young  to  be  acting  as  guide,  but 
he  proved  to  be  sixteen  years  old,  a  dwarf,  but  not 
in  the  least  deformed. 

[138] 


tn  Florence 


In  Italy  it  is  customary  when  churches  are  open 
to  hang  in  the  doorway  a  curtain,  very  heavy,  dingy 
and  brown,  made  of  leather  or  padded  cloth,  and 
resembling  nothing  so  much  as  an  old  quilt.  There 
is  always  at  least  one  old  man  or  woman  to  hold  this 
aside  for  one  to  enter,  expecting  a  small  coin  in 
return.  They  are  very  quick,  even  if  crippled  and 
apparently  decrepit.  They  prop  back  the  curtain 
with  one  hand  and  hold  out  the  other,  and  usually 
are  on  the  alert  for  footsteps  returning,  that  they 
may  open  it  for  the  departing  one.  There  are  so 
many  interesting  churches  in  Florence  that  beg¬ 
ging  at  their  doors  must  be  quite  an  industry,  even 
if  it  may  never  come  under  the  head  of  organized 
labour. 

The  Piazza  della  Signoria  is  the  most  interesting 
quarter  of  Florence.  A  stone  in  the  square  marks 
the  place  where  Savonarola  was  burned  to  death, 
not  far  from  the  huge  fountain  of  Neptune.  On 
one  side  is  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  now  the  City  Hall, 
a  solid,  thick-walled  building  with  overhanging 
upper  story,  and  the  tall  slender  tower  already 
mentioned.  The  entrance  seems  to  promise  but 
little,  but  within  is  a  courtyard  surrounded  by  a 
loggia,  with  finely  carved  stone  pillars,  and  round 
arches  supporting  the  upper  stories.  On  the  cor¬ 
nice  are  medallions  with  different  coats  of  arms,  the 
Florentine  lily,  and  the  ever  present  “  Medici 
pills,”  as  Grant  Allen  calls  them,  conspicuous.  A 
charming  little  fountain,  a  child  holding  a  fish, 

[  139  ] 


Spring  2Baps: 

stands  in  the  centre  of  this  picturesque  courtyard, 
across  which  pass  sedate  modern  business  men  of 
Florence,  or  parties  of  tourists.  Long  flights  of 
stairs  lead  up  to  the  celebrated  “  Hall  of  the  Five 
Hundred,”  the  walls  covered  with  frescoes  and 
tapestries,  and  containing  statues,  notably  two  of 
the  Medici  family,  and  a  colossal  one  of  Savona¬ 
rola.  On  the  floor  above  is  the  “  Hall  of  Lilies,” 
an  audience  room.  Here  I  found  an  American 
flag  side  by  side  with  an  Italian  one,  having  been 
presented  to  the  city  of  Florence  by  some  Ameri¬ 
cans  on  the  occasion  of  a  city  festival  several  years 
ago.  Here,  too,  are  a  suite  of  former  state  apart¬ 
ments  and  a  small  chapel  where  royal  guests  have 
been  entertained,  and  from  a  small,  insignificant 
looking  passage,  through  a  peephole  so  high  up 
that  one  must  mount  several  steps  to  reach  it,  one 
commands  a  view  of  the  entire  “  Hall  of  the  Five 
Hundred.”  Doubtless  much  was  seen  and  over¬ 
heard  from  here  unknown  to  the  council  deliber¬ 
ating  below,  for  the  peephole  is  cleverly  concealed 
in  the  decorations  close  to  the  lofty  ceiling. 

Leaving  the  Palazzo,  at  the  left  is  the  "  Loggia 
dei  Lanzi  ”  with  statues,  the  work  of  Benvenuto 
Cellini,  Giambologna,  Donatello,  and  others  be¬ 
neath  the  high-arched  roof,  but  quite  unprotected 
on  three  sides  from  the  weather,  such  precaution 
not  being  thought  necessary  in  this  southern  land. 
A  street  runs  between  the  two  portions  of  the 
Palace  of  the  Uffizi,  or  Offices,  down  to  the  Lung’- 

[  140  ] 


in  Jflorence 


Arno,  where  a  passageway  crosses  it  and  connects 
them.  The  famous  galleries  occupy  the  upper 
stories  of  both  wings  of  the  building,  the  lower  floor 
on  the  right  being  devoted  to  the  post  office  and 
archives.  Porticoes  with  statues  of  notable  Floren¬ 
tines  and  others  run  the  length  of  the  little  street, 
and  everywhere  pigeons  sit  preening  their  feathers, 
fly  about,  or  tamely  walk  up  to  one,  expecting  to 
be  fed. 

It  is  useless  to  vie  with  guide-books  in  describing 
the  contents  of  these  galleries.  After  visiting 
them  for  weeks  one  has  but  the  vaguest  idea  of  their 
contents.  The  most  indefatigable  sightseer  could 
hardly  do  more  than  walk  through  the  Uffizi,  cast¬ 
ing  the  most  cursory  glances  at  paintings,  statuary, 
jewels,  etc.,  in  one  morning.  Had  such  an  one  the 
strength,  he  might  afterwards  walk  through  a 
covered  passage  over  one  of  the  Arno  bridges — the 
fascinating  old  covered  bridge — through  the  upper 
story  of  a  line  of  shops,  and  after  sundry  turns, 
always  under  cover,  reach  the  smaller  Pitti  gallery 
in  the  palace  of  that  name.  This  old  passage  was 
built  in  the  days  when  it  was  sometimes  convenient 
to  have  a  secret  means  of  escape  from  one  palace  to 
the  other. 

The  Belle  Arti  gallery  is  one  to  be  visited  many 
times.  Here  are  many  examples  of  early  Tuscan 
art,  down  to  a  collection  of  wrorks  by  modern  artists 
in  an  upstairs  gallery  Here  is  Michelangelo’s 
great  David,  in  the  midst  of  excellent  casts  of  other 

[141] 


Spring  Baps 


famous  statues  by  this  master,  so  that  they  may  be 
studied  and  compared.  After  a  few  days  the 
traveller  whose  time  is  limited  becomes  bewildered 
at  the  mere  thought  of  all  that  there  is  to  be  seen 
in  this  dear  old  city. 

Only  a  few  minutes’  walk  from  the  Piazza  della 
Signoria,  after  several  turns  down  dark,  narrow 
streets,  one  arrives  at  the  fascinating  Bargello,  an¬ 
other  old,  fortress-like  building,  now  a  museum, 
and  filled  with  treasures.  There  are  statues  in 
marble  and  bronze  by  Michelangelo,  Cellini,  Giam¬ 
bologna,  and  many  others;  of  the  former  notably 
his  grotesque,  hideous,  yet  powerful  “  Mask  of  a 
Faun,”  his  “  Dying  Adonis,”  and  intensely  strong 
“  Temptation.”  One  lofty  room  is  filled  with  mas¬ 
terpieces  by  Donatello,  casts  and  photographs  of 
other  works  by  him  in  cases  around  the  walls.  Here 
are  the  exquisite  St.  George,  and  the  “  David,” 
simply  and  airily  attired  in  a  hat  very  like  a  fire¬ 
man’s  helmet,  and  wearing  a  look  of  smug  satisfac¬ 
tion  as  he  tramples  upon  the  giant’s  head.  The 
Giambologna  “  Mercury  ”  in  another  room  is  the 
very  personification  of  grace  and  lightness.  Here 
in  this  gallery  is  the  bronze  bust  of  Michelangelo, 
with  its  strong,  rugged  yet  pathetic  face,  with  such 
an  expression  of  uncomplaining  weariness.  Then 
there  are  tapestries,  exquisite  ivory  carvings,  arms, 
and  many  examples  of  the  Della  Robbia  family’s 
work  in  enamelled  terra-cotta,  from  the  charming 
blue  and  white  Madonnas  and  Holy  Families  to  the 

[  142  ] 


in  Jflorettce 


later,  less  pleasing  ones  in  four  or  five  colours,  in 
which  much  of  the  charm  of  the  original  makers 
seems  lost.  The  Bargello  courtyard  and  stairway 
is  in  itself  a  delight.  Carved  columns  support  the 
upper  stories,  constituting  a  loggia,  and  coats  of 
arms  carved  in  stone  which  has  taken  on  delightful 
tones  adorn  the  wall  against  which  the  stairway 
ascends. 

Interest  in  the  Della  Robbias  will  lead  one  to 
the  museum  of  the  cathedral,  where  Luca  Della 
Robbia’s  exquisite  choir  loft,  with  a  band  of  chil¬ 
dren,  may  be  compared  with  one  by  Donatello  on 
the  opposite  wall;  it  is  hard  to  decide  to  which  to 
give  the  preference.  Della  Robbia’s  work,  quaint 
little  swaddled  babies,  adorns  the  portico  of  the 
Foundling  Hospital. 

Beside  the  art  galleries  in  the  Pitti  Palace,  there 
are  the  royal  apartments,  visible  at  certain  hours, 
and  collections  of  silver  and  porcelains.  The  royal 
apartments  are  at  the  top  of  several  long  flights  of 
marble  stairs,  and  as  elevators  have  yet  to  be  added 
to  Italian  palaces,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Their 
Majesties  have  no  objection  to  climbing  stairs.  A 
very  gorgeous  individual  in  long  scarlet  coat,  knee- 
breeches,  white  stockings,  and  armed  with  a  long 
staff  of  office,  is  always  to  be  seen  at  the  entrance 
to  the  palace  to  direct  the  visitor,  and  I  saw  his 
counterpart,  equally  tall  and  imposing,  at  the 
royal  palace  in  Naples.  Then  there  are  the  beauti¬ 
ful  Boboli  gardens,  very  extensive,  adjoining  the 

[  W3] 


Spring  Baps 


palace,  and  in  which  one  may  walk  on  certain 
days,  and  gaze  upon  the  remarkable  manufactured 
grotto. 

When  weary  of  gazing  at  pictures  and  art  treas¬ 
ures  of  all  descriptions,  the  feminine  traveller  will 
enjoy  a  walk  along  Lung’ Arno,  starting  from  the 
picturesque  old  covered  bridge,  the  Ponte  V ecchio, 
with  the  little  shops  and  booths  gay  with  quantities 
of  coral,  blue  beads,  enamel  brooches  and  buckles, 
and  turquoise  jewelry  of  all  kinds  which  line  both 
sides  of  the  thoroughfare  across  the  river.  These 
shops  continue  down  the  bank  of  the  river  on  the 
northern  side.  Or  one  may  take  one  of  the  many 
trips  out  into  the  suburbs  or  drive  in  the  pretty 
park,  the  Cascine.  Inexpensive  trolley  lines  run 
out  to  all  these  suburbs,  to  Fiesole,  with  its  Roman 
amphitheatre,  to  Settignano,  where  are  many  villas, 
but  of  which  the  chief  attraction  is  the  view,  or  out 
to  San  Miniato.  To  this  latter  suburb  the  road 
winds  in  many  curves  upon  itself  up  from  the 
Piazza  Michelangelo,  where  stands  the  great  art¬ 
ist’s  monument,  and  on  to  the  beautiful  old  con¬ 
vent  church,  with  marbles  and  frescoes  to  be  seen. 
Prom  this  height  there  is  a  fine  view  of  the  city, 
pretty  villas  on  the  slopes,  and  in  the  springtime 
orchards  of  blossoming  fruit  trees  in  all  the  valleys 
and  on  the  hillsides. 

On  the  day  before  Easter  a  remarkable  ceremony 
occurs  in  Florence.  In  the  square  of  the  cathedral 
fireworks  are  placed  in  readiness,  and  exactly  at 

[  144  ] 


The  Ponte  Vecchio,  Florence 


in  Jflorence 


noon  these  are  set  off  by  heavenly  agency,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  firm  belief  of  the  ignorant  masses.  F rom 
the  top  of  the  cathedral  a  wire  descends  to  the  fire¬ 
works,  and  at  the  proper  hour  a  dove,  a  small  toy 
dove,  with  a  light  in  its  beak,  slides  down  the  wire 
and  touches  them  off.  Although  this  apparatus 
is  visible  to  all  who  choose  to  witness  the  ceremony, 
the  dove  is  said  to  be  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  is  ap¬ 
parently  accepted  as  such  by  the  class  above 
referred  to. 

Of  the  many  churches,  the  following  are  among 
the  most  interesting  ones:  Or  San  Michele,  built 
for  business  purposes,  but  transformed  into  a 
church  in  the  early  part  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
hence  the  prefix  “  Or  ”  to  the  saint’s  name,  the  word 
signifying  now  in  Italian.  The  chief  object  of  in¬ 
terest  within  is  a  magnificent  altar,  with  bas-reliefs 
by  Orcagna.  On  the  outside  are  a  number  of 
niches,  each  containing  a  statue  of  a  saint,  the 
patron  of  one  of  the  various  old  corporations  or 
guilds  of  the  city,  the  weavers,  wool-spinners,  car¬ 
penters,  etc.,  which  organization  supplied  the  statue. 
These  are  all  the  work  of  famous  sculptors, 
chiefly  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  Donatello’s  St. 
George,  patron  saint  of  armourers,  represented 
clad  in  full  armour,  and  carrying  a  shield,  was 
originally  among  them,  but  since  its  removal  to 
the  Bargello  has  been  replaced  by  a  good  copy. 

San  Lorenzo,  on  the  square  of  the  same  name, 
where  a  large  market  is  held,  is  very  old,  and  still 

[  1^3] 


Spring  Baps; 


unfinished,  for  its  facade  of  rough  brick  was  in¬ 
tended  to  be  replaced  by  one  of  marble.  Beneath 
the  cupola  is  buried  Cosimo  Medici  I.,  and  the 
bas-reliefs  of  the  two  pulpits  are  the  work  of  Dona¬ 
tello  and  bis  pupils.  Close  beside  the  church  door 
a  small  passage  admits  one  to  an  old  cloister,  with 
some  interesting  inscriptions  on  old  memorial 
slabs.  At  the  further  side  a  stairway  leads  up  to  the 
celebrated  library  founded  by  the  great  Cosimo. 
Here  are  thousands  of  old  manuscripts,  early  edi¬ 
tions  of  Virgil  and  Dante,  with  antiquated  scientific 
treatises,  beautifully  illustrated  with  miniatures, 
the  colours  remarkably  bright.  A  double  row  of 
pews  occupies  half  the  main  hall.  On  the  racks  are 
chained  heavy  wooden  cases  with  glass  tops,  be¬ 
neath  which  are  displayed  two  pages  of  the  precious 
volumes,  and  this  glass  has  a  cover,  which  the  visi¬ 
tor  is  not  allowed  to  remove  for  himself,  but  cour¬ 
teous  attendants  will  usually  see  to  it  that  he  sees  as 
many  as  he  chooses  to  take  the  time  for. 

Back  of  these  buildings  is  the  Chapel  of  the 
Princess,  large,  lofty  and  circular,  surmounted  by 
a  dome,  and  surrounded  by  the  tombs  of  many 
Medicis,  decorated  entirely  in  marble  in  many 
colours.  It  is  imposing  but  rather  gaudy.  In  the 
same  building  is  the  New  Sacristy,  with  Michel¬ 
angelo’s  wonderful  tombs  of  Giulio  and  Lorenzo 
Medici,  with  which  many  reproductions  have  made 
us  familiar,  without  being  able  to  convey  the  feel¬ 
ing  of  awe  with  which  the  reality  inspires  us,  awe 

[  146] 


in  Jflorence 


mingled  with  admiration  for  the  immortal  genius 
whose  work  they  are. 

The  Church  of  the  Annunziata  is  not  particu¬ 
larly  interesting,  but  in  the  adjoining  cloisters  are 
Andrea  del  Sarto’s  great  frescoes,  protected  now 
by  glass  partitions  placed  several  feet  in  front  of 
them.  Alas,  the  grimy  condition  of  these  glass 
partitions  sadly  interferes  with  one’s  view  of  them. 
There  are  doors  which  can  be  unlocked,  allowing 
the  visitor  to  pass  within  and  view  them  when  the 
attendant  happens  to  be  at  hand,  and  ready  for  a 
tip,  but  occasional  applications  of  soap  and  water 
would  be  appreciated  by  the  public,  especially  in 
his  absence. 

The  enormous  Santa  Croce  is  interesting,  not 
only  because  of  the  fine  frescoes  by  Giotto  and  his 
pupils,  discovered  quite  recently  beneath  the  so  fre¬ 
quently  encountered  and  destructive  coat  of  white¬ 
wash,  and  counted  among  his  masterpieces,  but  also 
for  the  number  of  monuments  to  distinguished  men 
that  it  contains.  Of  course  there  is  a  Medici  chapel, 
and  in  this  church  is  the  monument  to  Michel¬ 
angelo,  the  effort  of  three  different  sculptors.  One 
can  hardly  imagine  his  worst  enemy,  if  given  the 
task,  erecting  a  more  hideous  monument,  or  one 
more  false  to  all  this  master’s  principles  of  art  and 
artistic  aims.  It  is  clumsy,  awkward,  and  wholly 
lacking  in  simplicity. 

Not  far  from  this  church  is  the  house  of  Michel¬ 
angelo,  converted  into  a  museum  by  one  of  his 

[147] 


Spring  Maya 


descendants,  and  left,  together  with  a  collection  of 
antiquities  to  the  city  by  him.  The  rooms  are  fres¬ 
coed  with  scenes  representing  various  episodes  in 
the  artist’s  life,  the  foreign  missions  with  which  he 
was  charged,  his  interviews  with  the  Pope,  when  at 
work  on  the  Sistine  Chapel,  etc.  There  are  por¬ 
traits  of  him  and  of  Vittoria  Colonna,  sketches, 
designs  and  unfinished  works. 

Santa  Maria  Novella  is  another  church  in  which 
one  could  spend  hours,  studying  its  marvellous 
frescoes  in  the  main  edifice,  the  choir  and  numerous 
chapels,  in  which  repairs  are  constantly  bringing 
new  ones  to  light.  Almost  all  of  the  frescoes  con¬ 
tain  portraits  of  celebrated  personages  of  the  art¬ 
ist’s  time,  and  Dante  is  frequently  met  with.  A 
new  portrait  of  him  was  recently  discovered  in  one 
of  the  large  frescoes  in  the  Strozzi  chapel  in  this 
church.  The  adjoining  green  cloister  has  some 
very  old,  sadly  damaged  frescoes  which  are  now 
being  rescued  from  further  decay.  Prom  this 
opens  the  beautiful  Spanish  chapel,  its  walls 
covered  with  curious  frescoes  of  the  school  of  Giotti. 
Ruskin  is  said  to  have  visited  this  chapel  every  day 
for  a  year,  studying  them.  The  large  one  on  the 
east  wall,  the  Church  Militant  and  the  Church 
Triumphant,  represents  the  victory  of  the  Domini¬ 
can  monks,  depicted  as  black  and  white  dogs,  over 
heretics  in  the  form  of  wolves,  while  Pope  and  Em¬ 
peror  stand  surrounded  by  courtiers  and  eminent 
men  and  women — portraits  that  may  be  studied 

[  148  1 


in  Jflorence 


out  if  one  have  the  time — and  with  the  cathedral 
dome  in  the  background. 

Those  interested  in  art  will  surely  visit  Santa 
Maria  del  Carmine.  The  greater  portion  of  this 
church  is  quite  new — not  yet  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  old — and  very  glaring,  but  one  of  the  tran¬ 
septs  was  preserved  from  the  flames  that  destroyed 
the  old  edifice,  and  here,  in  the  Brancacci  chapel  are 
the  celebrated  frescoes  begun  by  Masolino,  con¬ 
tinued  by  his  greater  pupil,  Masaccio,  and  finished 
by  Filippino  Lippi.  A  cloister  with  a  few  frag¬ 
ments  of  frescoes  adjoins  the  church. 

These  are  the  chief  of  many,  many  churches 
which  will  well  repay  a  visit.  One  cannot  examine 
many  of  the  pictures  and  frescoes  without  feeling 
the  need  for  more  information  about  the  various 
saints  than  the  ordinary  person  possesses.  Fortu¬ 
nately  this  lack  can  be  easily  supplied  by  a  number 
of  excellent  books.  Such  make  the  pictures  far 
more  interesting  to  the  average  sightseer,  since  one 
may  study  out  at  least  a  portion  of  the  various  fig¬ 
ures.  After  seeing  many  Holy  Families,  we  began 
to  notice  the  various  ways  in  which  St.  Joseph  is 
depicted,  and  to  wronder  why  these  old  artists  almost 
invariably  represented  him  as  asleep,  or  looking 
hopelessly  bored  and  indifferent  in  the  background. 
A  peculiarity  of  the  very  old  frescoes  lies  in  their 
manner  of  representing  persons  raised  from  the 
dead,  or  restored  to  life  after  having  fallen  from 
balconies  or  other  elevations.  One  figure  lies 

[  149  ] 


Spring  ©ays 


motionless,  dead,  while  close  beside  it  another  fig¬ 
ure  representing  the  same  person,  sits  up  to  show 
the  miracle  that  has  been  worked.  The  jolly  old 
St.  Zenebius,  patron  of  pawnbrokers,  a  strictly 
Florentine  saint,  as  he  was  once  bishop  of  the  city, 
is  frequently  portrayed.  Among  the  many  scenes 
from  his  life  popular  with  the  old  painters,  is  one 
representing  the  saint  throwing  three  bags  of 
money  in  at  the  window  of  a  poor  man  to  serve  as 
dowries  for  his  three  dowerless  daughters.  This 
kind  thoughtfulness  on  the  part  of  the  saint  should 
endear  him  to  the  dowerless  Florentine  maiden  for 
all  times.  Sometimes  it  is  quite  puzzling  to  under¬ 
stand  why  certain  figures  are  introduced.  In  the 
background  of  one  of  Andrea  del  Sarto’s  repre¬ 
sentations  of  the  Annunciation — the  Virgin,  as 
usual  the  portrait  of  his  wife — is  a  nude  woman 
bathing,  while  an  elderly  man  gazes  upon  her  from 
a  balcony.  Only  when  one  recalls  to  mind  the  Vir¬ 
gin’s  lineage  does  it  occur  to  her  that  these  are 
David  and  Bathsheba,  and  their  presence  is  then 
explained,  even  though  somewhat  unsatisfactorily. 

It  is  also  interesting  to  study  the  many  portraits 
and  busts  of  Lorenzo  di  Medici,  the  Magnificent, 
which  are  to  be  found  on  every  hand.  He  could 
apparently  change  faces  as  a  chameleon  changes 
colour.  Sometimes  he  is  seen  to  be  very  handsome, 
at  others  ugly  and  repulsive. 

In  the  massive  old  palace  built  for  Cosimo  the 
Elder,  and  now  occupied  by  the  government,  is  the 

[  ISO  ] 


in  Jflorence 


chapel  of  the  Medicis,  small  and  dark,  with  beauti¬ 
ful  frescoes  by  Gozzoli  covering  all  four  walls. 
Some  vandal  cut  a  door  through  one  wall,  quite 
heedless  of  the  fresco  he  thereby  partially  ruined. 
The  subject  of  these  frescoes  is  the  Adoration  of 
the  Magi,  who  come  with  a  long  train  of  attendants, 
and  among  the  numerous  figures  the  guide  will 
point  out  portraits  of  many  members  of  the  Medici 
family. 

It  is  interesting  to  study  the  crowds  that  throng 
the  galleries  and  museums  on  Sundays,  the  free 
day.  Whatever  their  views  at  home  as  regards  the 
opening  of  such  places  on  Sunday,  Anglo-Saxons 
seem  usually  to  leave  any  prejudices  against  it  at 
home,  for  they  are  always  to  be  seen  in  large  num¬ 
bers,  mingling  with  the  many  Italian  workingmen, 
with  their  sweethearts,  or  wives  and  families,  down 
to  tiny  children  clinging  to  their  parents’  hands, 
while  these  elders  all  apparently  thoroughly  enjoy 
gazing  at  the  works  of  art. 


[  151  ] 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THERE  are  three  routes  from  Florence  to 
Rome,  each  of  them  passing  through  some 
point  of  special  interest.  The  most  direct 
one  runs  through  Orvieto,  but  this  interesting  town 
may  also  be  visited  if  one  of  the  more  roundabout 
routes,  that  passing  through  Siena,  be  chosen. 
From  Florence  to  Empoli  there  are  good  trains; 
here  one  changes  to  the  branch  line  for  Siena,  with 
slow  trains  arriving  in  about  three  hours. 

This  latter  old  town  lies  in  the  midst  of  a  moun¬ 
tainous  country,  and  on  a  hill.  There  are  no  street 
cars  of  any  description,  a  distinction  that  Siena 
shares  with  Pisa,  but  with  few  other  Italian  cities. 
The  traveller  takes  a  cab  from  the  station,  outside 
the  high  city  wall,  to  his  hotel  or  pension,  after  that, 
if  he  is  wise,  he  walks,  unless  for  some  excursion 
outside  of  the  town.  The  streets,  save  in  the  newer 
western  part,  where  is  the  park,  La  Lizza,  with  a 
monument  to  Garibaldi,  are  narrow,  crooked  and 
steep.  The  Via  Cavour,  with  its  various  other 
names  for  different  portions  of  its  length,  is  the 
main  street  of  the  town,  and  runs  at  about  a  mean 
elevation  through  it,  with  many  twists  and  turns 
but  fairly  level  for  Siena.  Starting  from  the  post 
office,  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  following  it 

[152] 


tEotona  g>iena  anil  (^rbieto 

south,  one  comes  to  the  chief  points  of  interest. 
First,  at  the  left,  a  beautiful  loggia,  the  Casino 
of  the  Nobles.  Every  now  and  then  one  catches 
glimpses  of  a  tall  tower,  but  continuing  past  several 
old  palaces,  an  unpromising  looking  alley  turns 
off  at  the  left,  descending  steeply,  and  terminating 
in  a  flight  of  steps,  at  the  foot  of  which  extends 
the  Piazza  del  Campo,  the  large  brick,  Gothic 
structure,  the  Palazzo  Pubblico,  with  the  tall  tower 
of  which  one  has  caught  glimpses  from  other  points, 
and  the  Palace  of  the  Government.  The  other  sur¬ 
rounding  buildings  are  not  of  much  interest,  hut  in 
the  centre  of  the  Piazza,  which  in  shape  at  least  is 
not  a  square,  is  a  beautiful  fountain,  whose  bas- 
relief  decorations  were  the  work  of  Jacopo  della 
Quercia,  who  introduced  his  symbolic  oak  leaf  on 
all  possible  occasions.  The  word  quercia  in  the 
Italian  language  signifies  oak.  The  original  reliefs 
are  now  in  the  Cathedral  Museum,  and  have  been 
replaced  by  copies.  At  the  foot  of  the  tower  of 
the  Public  Palace,  and  raised  but  a  few  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  pavement,  is  a  beautiful  little  chapel 
in  the  form  of  a  loggia  or  large  portico,  open  on 
three  sides,  with  fine  carvings  and  reliefs  on  sup¬ 
porting  columns,  arches  and  frieze,  and  on  the  rear 
wall  a  badly  damaged  fresco  by  Siena’s  famous 
artist,  Sodoma.  This  chapel  was  begun  in  1348, 
as  a  thank-offering  after  the  cessation  of  the 
plague.  In  front  of  the  right  wing  of  the  palace 
a  column  with  a  beautiful  Corinthian  capital  is  sur- 

[153] 


€i)t  HiU  tKotonsi 

mounted  by  the  arms  of  Siena,  the  wolf  with  two 
sucking  babes,  the  same  as  the  arms  of  Rome,  for 
Siena  was  once  a  Roman  colony. 

There  is  no  charge  for  entrance  to  the  palace, 
but  a  tip  is  expected  by  the  guide  who  will  take 
visitors  through  the  chief  rooms,  and  give  much 
information.  All  the  old  rooms  formerly  used  by 
the  rulers  of  Siena  are  covered  with  rare  old  fres¬ 
coes,  there  is  a  little  gem  of  a  chapel,  separated 
from  its  vestibule  by  a  wonderfully  wrought  iron 
grill,  and  close  by  is  the  Grand  Council  Hall,  also 
covered  with  frescoes,  and  containing  finely  carved 
stalls.  After  viewing  the  old  frescoes,  and  glanc¬ 
ing  out  of  the  windows — set  so  high  that  one  must 
climb  up  to  them — at  the  beautiful  view  of  the 
surrounding  country,  one  is  shown  into  the  monu¬ 
mental  hall,  a  large  room  decorated  with  very  new, 
very  brightly  coloured  frescoes,  commemorating 
various  events  in  modern  Italian  history,  chiefly 
connected  with  Victor  Emanuel  II.  Of  course  the 
figures  in  these  frescoes  are  all  clad  in  compara¬ 
tively  modern  attire,  for  they  are  not  more  than 
twenty  years  old,  and  after  the  soft,  faded  old  fres¬ 
coes  of  the  other  rooms  the  effect  is  startling  and 
unfortunate. 

Not  far  from  this  building,  on  a  short,  narrow 
street,  is  the  university,  recently  renovated.  There 
are  but  two  departments,  those  of  law  and  of  medi¬ 
cine,  but  the  students  took  a  prominent  part  in  a 
strike  of  school  and  university  students,  which,  for 

[  154  ] 


'■  if 


&iena  anb  <f>rtueto 


a  short  time  in  the  spring  of  1903,  was  almost  a 
general  strike  in  Italy.  It  was  caused  by  wide¬ 
spread  disapproval  of  some  regulations  promul¬ 
gated  by  the  Minister  of  Education.  A  few 
students  were  hurt  in  a  fight  with  the  guards,  called 
out  in  Florence  to  disperse  them,  but  in  most  places 
the  students  contented  themselves  with  remaining 
away  from  their  classes,  and  parading  the  streets 
at  a  run,  but  quite  harmlessly,  while  the  Minister 
sent  frequent  letters  to  the  newspapers,  explaining 
his  actions,  and  there  was  much  journalistic  discus¬ 
sion.  Finally  the  students  returned,  and  all  was 
settled  peacefully. 

Returning  to  Via  Cavour,  several  different 
streets  leading  to  the  right  all  climb  steeply  to  the 
group  of  buildings  around  the  Cathedral  Piazza. 
Taking  the  Via  di  Castero,  one  passes  beneath  a 
huge  arch,  which  was  to  have  been  the  main  en¬ 
trance  to  the  enormous  cathedral  as  planned.  The 
end  wall,  somewhat  damaged,  rises  above,  with 
spaces  left  for  large  windows,  and  the  side  walls 
for  some  distance  up  the  projected  nave  were  built. 
In  order  to  preserve  them  these  walls  have  been 
built  into  structures  serving  various  purposes,  the 
one  on  the  right  is  the  so-called  "  Opera  del 
Duomo  ”  or  a  museum,  containing  old  pictures  of 
the  Siena  school,  embroideries,  crosses,  and  plans 
of  the  cathedral.  On  the  other  side  is  the  royal 
palace. 

Had  the  cathedral  been  built  as  originally 
[155] 


Wl )t  Jfyill  ftotons 

planned,  when  these  unfinished  walls  were  erected, 
the  actual  existing  cathedral  would  have  constituted 
one  transept  of  the  whole  building,  which  it  would 
have  antedated  one  century,  for  the  present  cathe¬ 
dral  was  begun  in  the  thirteenth  century.  It  is 
a  striking  edifice  of  black,  white  and  red  marble,  a 
broad  terrace  with  steps  nearly  surrounding  it  on 
three  sides.  The  fa9ade  is  elaborately  decorated 
with  statues,  carvings,  and  over  the  three  front 
entrances  are  modern  mosaics.  It  has  a  dome,  a 
tall  campanile,  or  bell  tower,  and  standing  on  the 
highest  point  of  the  city,  is  conspicuous.  The  hill 
slopes  off  sharply  at  the  rear,  so  that  there  is  room 
for  another  church,  the  old  baptistery  of  San 
Giovanni,  beneath  the  main  altar. 

The  interior  of  the  cathedral  is  peculiar  looking ; 
opinions  diff  er  as  to  its  beauty.  The  nave  is  divided 
by  two  rows  of  pillars  supporting  round  arches, 
above  which,  for  the  entire  length  of  the  church 
on  both  sides,  and  above  the  choir,  is  a  frieze  com¬ 
posed  of  busts  of  all  the  popes,  up  to  about  1400. 
But  pillars  and  walls  are  of  marble,  in  regular,  hori¬ 
zontal  stripes  of  black  and  white,  which  gives  the 
odd  effect  which  some  admire  and  others  decry. 
The  light  softened  by  falling  through  stained  glass 
windows  does,  however,  make  the  effect  less  glar¬ 
ingly  black  and  white  than  might  be  supposed, 
judging  merely  from  pictures.  The  ceiling  is  blue, 
with  gilt  stars,  and  the  inlaid  marble  pavement  in 
the  side  naves  contains  curious  and  beautiful  repre- 

[  150  ] 


&iena  anti  (J^rbteto 


sentations  of  the  various  Sybils,  the  central  pave¬ 
ment  being  laid  in  conventionalized  designs.  The 
greater  part  of  the  original  pavement  is  preserved 
in  the  Opera  del  Duomo,  and  has  been  replaced  by 
copies. 

At  the  left  is  the  altar  of  the  Piccolomini  family, 
as  prominent  in  Siena  as  the  Medici  family  in  Pisa 
and  Florence.  The  five  statues  are  by  Michel¬ 
angelo,  and  the  pavement  in  front  of  the  altar 
contains  a  reproduction  of  his  Sybil  of  Samos. 
Further  along,  near  the  door  leading  into  the 
library,  are  two  angels,  with  Christ,  risen  from  the 
dead,  all  attributed  to  Michelangelo.  There  is  a 
beautiful  chapel  of  St.  John  in  the  left  transept, 
with  frescoes  by  Pinturicchio,  and  a  bronze  statue 
of  John  the  Baptist,  by  Donatello.  In  the  oppo¬ 
site  transept  are  statues  of  St.  Jerome  and  Mary 
Magdalen,  by  Bernini,  and  near  the  choir,  which 
contains  many  objects  of  beauty,  is  the  wonderful 
marble  pulpit  made  by  Nicolo  Pisano,  his  son  Gio¬ 
vanni,  and  his  pupils.  It  is  almost  a  counterpart  of 
the  one  in  the  Baptistery  of  Pisa.  The  same  pil¬ 
lars  resting  on  the  backs  of  lions  support  the  pulpit 
proper,  with  its  low,  encircling  wall  of  marble, 
exquisitely  carved,  and  the  same  curving  marble 
staircase  leads  up  to  it. 

The  library  is  a  truly  magnificent  room,  glori¬ 
fying  the  Piccolomini  family.  It  was  built  by  the 
order  of  a  cardinal  of  the  family,  later  Pope  Pius 
III.,  and  was  decorated  with  frescoes  by  Pinturic- 

[157] 


Zi)t  HiU  {Eotons; 


chio,  which  represent  scenes  from  the  life  of 
another  distinguished  member  of  this  family,  Pope 
Pius  II.  These  splendid  frescoes  are  very  well 
preserved,  and  the  artist  has  four  or  five  times  intro¬ 
duced  Raphael  among  the  spectators,  that  great 
artist  having  been  in  Siena  when  the  frescoes  were 
being  painted.  Andrea  del  Sarto  is  also  introduced. 
There  are  exquisitely  illustrated  books  of  chants, 
and  an  antique  statue  of  the  Three  Graces,  from 
which  the  Sienese  like  to  fancy  that  Raphael  made 
his  first  studies,  and  which  Canova  must  have  had 
in  mind  when  he  executed  his  group  of  the  same 
subject. 

The  Institute  of  Fine  Arts  has  a  large  collection 
of  paintings,  chiefly  of  the  very  early  Siena  school, 
hence  more  interesting  to  artists  and  students  than 
to  the  average  tourist.  There  are  also  many  pic¬ 
tures  by  Sodoma,  and  those  interested  in  his  work 
will  wish  to  visit  the  church  of  San  Agostino,  and 
especially  that  of  San  Domenico,  the  latter  built 
on  the  side  of  a  steep  hill  from  which  there  is  a 
beautiful  view;  and  at  quite  the  opposite  end  of  the 
town,  the  two  super-posed  chapels  constituting  the 
oratory  of  San  Bernardino,  containing  many  fine 
examples  of  Sodoma’s  work.  These  latter  two 
chapels  are  opened  for  service  only  on  the  festival 
day  of  San  Bernardino,  for  close  by  is  the  large 
church  of  St.  Francis,  quite  recently  restored  after 
a  fire — these  bare  stone  churches  seem  to  be  so 
frequently  damaged  or  destroyed  by  fire — and 

[158] 


&iena  anb  <£>rbteto 


consequently  modern  and  uninteresting.  They 
may  be  seen  by  paying  a  small  fee  to  the  custodian 
who  lives  close  by. 

Most  visitors  to  Siena  will  want  to  see  the  house 
of  St.  Catherine,  the  celebrated  Siena  saint.  It  is 
not  every  town,  even  in  Italy,  that  can  point  out 
the  house  of  a  duly  canonized  native.  An  old 
woman  lives  in  the  houe,  and  shows  visitors  over  it. 
The  father  of  the  saint  was  a  weaver,  but  most  of 
the  rooms  have  been  transformed  by  the  Society  of 
St.  Catherine  into  oratories,  and  decorated  with 
pictures,  so  that  no  traces  of  their  former  uses 
remain.  Always  these  pictures  represent  the  saint, 
and  frequently  as  receiving  the  Stigmata.  The 
crucifix  to  which  she  was  praying  when  she  received 
them  is  shown.  Visitors  are  taken  into  a  room,  and 
allowed  to  look  down  into  another  room,  where  is 
a  stone,  carefully  protected  by  an  iron  grating.  On 
this  stone,  they  are  told,  the  girl  saint  used  to  rest 
her  head  when  sleeping,  for  she  would  not  use  any¬ 
thing  so  luxurious  as  a  pillow.  A  picture  is  shown 
of  her  as  a  child,  ascending  to  the  second  story 
of  the  house,  walking  on  air,  instead  of  the  stairs, 
to  the  natural  amazement  of  her  parents,  standing 
in  the  hall  below,  gazing  after  her.  Then  there  is 
a  head  representing  the  saint  as  she  appeared  at 
the  time  of  her  death,  young  and  passably  good 
looking,  but  with  many  teeth  missing. 

Downstairs  is  a  large  chapel.  Here  are  paint¬ 
ings  still  representing  scenes  from  the  saint’s  life, 

[159] 


Efjc  Util  &otons; 


and  there  is  a  statue  of  her.  Around  the  walls  are 
hung  the  coats  of  arms  of  various  noble  families 
who  have  sent  them  here  possibly  to  honour  the 
saint,  or  as  tokens  of  their  belief  in  her. 

Many  charming  walks  may  be  taken  outside  the 
city  walls  of  Siena,  up  and  down  the  hillsides. 
Beyond  the  Porta  Ovile  is  a  picturesque  old  foun¬ 
tain  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  outside  Porta 
Camollia,  is  the  curious  old  “Palace  of  the  Devils.” 

If  one  happens  to  be  in  Siena  on  July  2d  or 
August  15th,  one  may  witness  the  so-called  Corse, 
held  on  these  two  days  of  the  year.  It  is  a  kind 
of  festival  at  which  people  appear  in  the  old  cos¬ 
tumes,  now  so  rarely  seen,  and  parade  the  streets. 
Siena  is  something  of  a  summer  resort  for  Italians, 
because  of  its  elevation.  It  is  said  to  be  cold  in 
winter,  but  there  are  stoves,  even  in  a  small  Italian 
pension  I  have  seen  them.  For  those  to  whom  it 
is  an  inducement,  let  me  add  that  Siena  is  a  very 
cheap  place  to  stay  in. 

The  branch  line  on  which  is  Siena  rejoins  the 
direct  line  for  Rome  at  Chiusi,  an  old  Etruscan  city, 
and  in  the  neighbourhood  of  which  are  many  Etrus¬ 
can  tombs.  From  Chiusi  it  is  not  far  to  Orvieto. 

This,  too,  is  a  very  old  Etruscan  town,  one  of 
the  twelve  destroyed  by  the  Romans  in  264  b.c. 
Later  rebuilt  it  was  one  of  the  chief  fortresses  of 
the  Guelphs,  and  here  various  popes  at  different 
times  took  refuge.  The  railway  station  lies  at  the 
foot  of  the  high  hill  upon  which  is  perched  the 

[  160  ] 


&tena  ani>  €>rbieto 


town.  A  carriage  road  winds  up  to  it,  or  from  the 
station  a  funicular  railway,  whose  car  is  timed  to 
meet  all  trains,  takes  one  to  the  entrance  of  the 
town  proper,  where  hotel  omnibuses  and  a  stray 
cab  or  two  may  be  found. 

There  is  nothing  modern  in  the  appearance  of 
Orvieto.  The  streets  are  narrow  and  winding,  and 
there  are  plenty  of  picturesque  stone  arches  con¬ 
necting  buildings  on  opposite  sides  of  these  little 
streets.  The  Palazzo  Communale  and  Palazzo  del 
Popolo  are  interesting  old  buildings,  there  is  a  pic¬ 
turesque  market  place,  and  if  one  remains  a  few 
days,  there  are  several  old  monasteries  with  paint¬ 
ings,  which  are  worth  visiting,  and  within  a  pleasant 
drive  of  the  towm.  But  the  chief  sights  are  the 
cathedral,  the  well  of  San  Patrizio,  and  the  Etrus¬ 
can  tombs. 

The  cathedral  is  considered  one  of  the  finest 
examples  of  Gothic  architecture  in  Italy.  It  con¬ 
tains  frescoes  by  Fra  Angelico  and  Signorelli,  the 
relic  of  the  “  miracle  of  Bolsena,”  in  its  silver  case, 
and  other  objects  of  interest. 

The  well  of  San  Patrizio  was  built  in  the  six¬ 
teenth  century.  Double  spiral  stone  stairways,  one 
used  for  descending,  the  other  for  ascending,  lead 
down  to  the  water  level,  nearly  two  hundred  feet 
below  the  surface  of  the  ground.  There  is  a  cir¬ 
cular  opening  at  the  top  which  admits  light,  and 
openings  cut  in  the  stone  spirals  enable  one  to  gaze 
down  into  the  well  itself,  or  across  at  the  opposite 

[161] 


je  JfyiU  tEotons;  ^>tena  anti  d^rbteto 


stairway.  The  steps  are  low,  for  donkeys  used  to 
go  up  and  down  to  fetch  water  from  well  to  town. 
Many  little  ferns  and  vines  have  taken  root  in 
crevices  of  the  walls,  and  moss  grows  on  them  and 
on  the  damp  stairs,  making  it  very  pretty.  The 
entrance  is  through  a  small  circular  building  cover¬ 
ing  the  well;  the  door  is  kept  locked,  but  the  cus¬ 
todian  is  close  at  hand  in  his  dwelling  in  the  grounds 
of  what  was  once  the  old  fortress,  but  is  now  trans¬ 
formed  into  a  pretty  public  park. 

The  Etruscan  tombs  are  on  the  road  leading 
around  the  hill,  down  to  the  station,  and  about  half 
way  between  it  and  the  town.  These  tombs  are  said 
to  date  from  the  fifth  century  b.c.  Some  are 
isolated,  others  built  on  both  sides  of  tiny  streets, 
but  grass  grows  all  around  them  and  over  the  hill¬ 
side.  They  are  all  alike.  One  descends  a  few  stone 
steps,  and  enters  a  small  square  stone  room,  very 
low.  The  ornaments  and  utensils  found  in  the 
tombs  have  all  been  removed,  and  there  are  but  few 
traces  of  any  decorations. 


[162] 


Etruscan  Tombs,  Orvieto 


CHAPTER  IX. 


IONG  before  Rome  came  in  sight,  some  friendly 
j  Italians  in  the  compartment  pointed  out 
a  glimpse  of  the  dome  of  St.  Peter’s, 
which  disappeared  in  a  moment,  only  to  reappear 
later.  Then  came  old  Roman  remains,  tombs, 
hits  of  wall,  portions  of  old  viaducts,  perhaps 
the  fragment  of  a  tower  of  somewhat  later  period, 
and  then  the  Roman  Campagna.  I  had  pictured  a 
hare,  barren  stretch  of  country,  and  instead  I  saw 
an  undulating  plain,  with  trees  scattered  over  it  in 
little  clusters,  and  the  expanse,  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see,  covered  with  grass  on  which  cattle  grazed 
peacefully.  This  is  the  portion  seen  by  the  ordi¬ 
nary  traveller.  Those  who  wish  to  f orm  an  idea  of 
the  real  desolation,  must  take  a  trip  out  into  the 
heart  of  this  country,  must  see  the  swampy  land, 
the  pools,  the  wretched  inhabitants,  shaken  with 
chills,  ill  and  hollow-eyed,  dwelling  in  caves,  or  in 
some  old  ruin  scarcely  habitable.  The  portion 
nearer  Rome  has  been  drained,  and  much  done  to 
improve  its  condition,  to  fight  off  the  terrible 
malaria,  but  an  enormous  amount  of  money  must 
needs  be  spent  before  the  entire  region  can  be  made 
healthy.  Some  of  the  owners,  for  the  Campagna 
is  owned  in  large  tracts,  are  not  financially  able 

[163] 


&nrient  attb 


to  undertake  improvements,  others  are  indifferent. 
Meanwhile  the  Italian  government  does  what  it 
can  with  free  distribution  of  quinine,  and  by  send¬ 
ing  physicians  to  advise  and  assist.  Even  for  this 
work  there  is  not  nearly  enough  money.  Those 
people,  living  on  the  Campagna,  who  are  able,  leave 
it  during  the  unhealthy  season,  but  the  vast  major¬ 
ity  remain. 

Leaving  the  railway  station  in  Rome,  one  comes 
out  upon  a  large  open  place,  with  clanging  electric 
trams,  and  gesticulating  cabmen.  In  the  centre  is 
a  park,  green  and  shady,  further  down  towards  the 
broad,  new  Via  Nazionale,  is  one  of  the  many  beau¬ 
tiful  fountains  to  be  found  all  over  Rome,  and 
directly  in  front  of  the  main  facade  of  the  station 
a  small  obelisk,  discovered  in  1882,  and  now  serv¬ 
ing  as  a  monument  to  five  hundred  Italian  soldiers 
who  were  killed  in  Abyssinia.  On  both  sides  of 
the  Via  Nazionale  where  it  starts  from  the  piazza, 
called  delle  Terme ,  from  the  baths  of  Diocletian, 
are  modern  buildings  with  porticoes  and  pillars, 
forming  a  semicircle.  Across  the  piazza  are  the 
ruined  Baths,  and  this  contrast  is  typical  of  the 
Rome  of  to-day.  The  modern  buildings  stand  on 
the  site  of  a  Roman  wall  which  once  surrounded  the 
Baths.  Part  of  the  old  structure  was  utilized  by 
Michelangelo  when  he  built  the  church  of  St.  Mary 
of  the  Angels,  and  ruined  bits  of  wall  still  stand  on 
either  side  of  it.  Another  portion  was  transformed 
into  a  convent  of  the  Carthusians.  Here  and  there 

[  164  ] 


ittobern  &om c 


one  distinguishes  where  the  old  walls  have  been  re¬ 
inforced  or  partly  rebuilt.  The  convent  has  been 
turned  into  a  government  museum,  to  enter  which 
one  passes  under  a  large,  lofty  Roman  archway. 
When  the  present  plans  are  carried  out  this  open 
place  will  be  more  beautiful  than  even  now,  for  the 
small  shops  and  unbeautiful  ruins  are  to  be  razed, 
leaving  more  open  space  for  the  park. 

This  museum  is  most  fascinating.  The  old  con¬ 
vent  garden  has  been  left  ahnost  as  it  was  when  the 
building  was  occupied  by  the  monks,  and  is  a  mass 
of  shrubbery  and  flowers,  intersected  by  little 
gravel  walks,  shaded  by  a  few  cypress  trees  said 
to  have  been  planted  by  Michelangelo;  scattered 
among  the  green  are  a  few  antique  statues,  and 
fountains  leap  and  play.  The  convent  buildings 
surround  the  garden  on  all  four  sides,  and  as  usual 
a  portico  supported  by  pillars  extends  beneath  the 
projecting  second  story,  so  that  the  monks  might 
walk  there  protected  from  sun  and  rain.  The 
cloister  was  built  from  plans  by  Michelangelo,  and 
if  one  has  never  known  or  realized  before  the  stu¬ 
pendous  activity  and  versatility  of  the  man  it  will 
surely  impress  itself  upon  him  before  he  has  been 
many  days  in  Rome. 

All  along  the  inner  wall  of  this  portico  are  set  the 
less  perfectly  preserved  antique  statues.  On  the 
side  furthest  from  the  entrance  have  been  left  some 
of  the  former  inmates’  cells,  each  with  its  private 
entrance,  leading  by  a  little  stairway  to  the  two 

[165] 


Ancient  attb 


rooms,  and  with  a  tiny  garden  of  its  own,  as  at 
Calci,  and  other  Carthusian  monasteries.  The 
rooms  are  now  filled  with  old  statues,  but  the  gar¬ 
dens  are  still  tended,  and  were  bright  with  flowers 
on  the  day  late  in  March  when  first  I  saw  them. 

Near  the  entrance  are  the  rooms  containing  the 
splendid  Ludovisi  collection,  brought  here  when 
the  Palazzo  Boncompagni  was  purchased,  together 
with  these  works  of  art  by  the  government,  and  the 
palace  fitted  up  for  the  residence  of  Queen  Mar- 
gherita.  Here  are  the  wonderful  “  Gaul  and  his 
Wife,”  an  especially  lovely  Minerva  with  such  a 
wise,  though  sweet  and  girlish  face,  and  many  other 
statues. 

Upstairs  are  more  statues,  wall  paintings  taken 
from  an  ancient  Roman  villa,  with  a  collection  of 
glass  vases,  nor  will  one  fail  to  see  a  terrible  old 
mosaic,  representing  a  corpse,  and  with  a  Greek 
inscription,  translated  as:  “  Recognize  thyself!  ” 

A  portion  of  the  building  is  occupied  as  an 
asylum  for  the  destitute  blind. 

After  leaving  the  museum  and  evading  various 
beggars — a  small  boy  used  to  haunt  that  square  and 
insist  upon  showing  an  elbow  with  what  appeared 
to  be  a  dreadful  sore  upon  it,  yet  which  never 
changed  in  the  least  in  appearance,  and,  grown 
somewhat  larger,  he  may  still  be  there — on  a  street 
close  by  is  another  fountain,  called  of  the  “happy 
water.”  A  sculptor  chose  for  his  design  Michel¬ 
angelo’s  “  Moses,”  and  it  is  said  proposed  to  im- 

[166] 


Jflobern  Rome 


prove  upon  it.  After  seeing  the  original  his  pre¬ 
sumption  seems  even  greater  than  before. 

Every  afternoon,  at  about  four  o’clock,  fashion¬ 
able  Romans  drive  in  their  private  carriages  down 
the  Corso,  and  up  to  the  Pincio,  the  beautiful  little 
park  on  top  of  a  high  hill.  Tourists  and  others  out 
for  the  afternoon  join  the  procession  in  hired  cabs, 
and  plenty  of  pedestrians  stroll  about  or  sit  under 
the  trees  on  benches  and  look  on.  For  two  hours 
round  and  round  go  the  carriages.  The  drive  is 
such  a  short  one  that  many  times  do  they  make  the 
circuit,  but  since  this  is  the  manner  in  which  society 
elects  to  spend  the  better  part  of  the  afternoon, 
what  arguments  can  be  brought  against  it?  After 
they  have  spent  sufficient  time  here,  back  they  all  go 
again,  by  way  of  the  narrow,  crowded  Corso.  On 
certain  days  in  the  week,  and  always  on  Sundays,  a 
hand  plays,  there  is  a  little  caffe  with  shaded  veran¬ 
dahs,  where  one  may  sit  all  the  afternoon  over  a 
cup  of  coffee  or  an  ice,  and  it  is  most  amusing  to 
study  the  crowds.  Handsomely  dressed  women 
with  or  without  a  cavalier,  or  an  entire  family 
packed  into  an  open  cab,  father,  mother  and  several 
children,  including  the  nurse,  with  a  tiny  baby  on 
its  pillow,  the  nurse  laughing  and  joining  in  the 
conversation  of  the  parents;  another  cab  may  con¬ 
tain  two  or  three  dapper  young  officers,  lolling  back 
and  gazing  about  them.  The  nurses,  or  balie,  are 
a  feature  in  themselves.  On  their  heads  they  wear 
caps  made  of  many  loops  of  broad,  bright-coloured 

[167] 


Ancient  anb 


ribbon,  with  long  streamers  behind,  reaching  nearly 
to  the  ground.  Their  gowns  are  of  various  colours, 
usually  bright,  and  always  with  a  broad  band  at 
the  bottom  of  the  same  colour  as  the  ribbons  of  their 
caps.  A  white  apron,  often  elaborately  trimmed 
with  lace,  a  bodice,  usually  of  velvet,  with  the  full 
white  under  waist  and  sleeves,  complete  the  cos¬ 
tume.  All  wear  large  gold  hoop  earrings,  two  or 
three  pins  with  enormous  gold  balls  on  the  end 
fasten  on  their  caps,  and  necklaces  are  not  uncom¬ 
mon.  These  nurses,  usually  peasant  women  from 
the  vicinity  of  the  city,  are  a  sturdy,  handsome  lot, 
and  their  outfits,  always  furnished  by  the  parents 
of  the  baby,  are  no  small  expense.  Whether  afoot 
or  in  cabs,  they  are  almost  always  accompanied  by 
the  child’s  mother,  and  when  I  asked  why  this  was 
so,  I  was  told  that  very  few  of  them  could  be 
trusted  to  behave  properly  otherwise.  Yet  no 
Italian  lady  with  the  slightest  pretensions  to  fash¬ 
ion  would  do  without  one. 

The  attractive  crowd  is  not,  however,  the  only 
reason  for  visiting  the  Pincio.  From  every  part  of 
the  outer  walk  of  this  pretty  little  park,  with  its 
shade  trees  and  palms,  its  marble  busts  of  cele¬ 
brated  Italians,  not  forgetting  an  old  Roman  obe¬ 
lisk,  which  once  served  to  honour  Antinous,  the 
view  is  beautiful.  From  two  sides  we  look  down 
upon  the  enchanting  gardens  of  the  Villa  Borghese, 
recently  purchased  from  the  descendants  of  the 
great  family  by  the  Italian  government,  and  now 

[168] 


Jflobern  &om e 


open  to  the  people  as  a  park.  On  another  side  the 
Villa  Medici,  now  the  property  of  the  French  gov¬ 
ernment,  and  the  home  of  the  fortunate  winners  of 
the  Prix  de  Rome  adjoins,  and  its  beautiful  gar¬ 
dens  are  also  open  to  the  public  on  certain  days. 
On  the  fourth  side  a  belvedere  on  the  brink  of  the 
hill,  there  descending  sharply,  looks  off  over  the 
city,  and  what  a  view  that  is!  At  one’s  feet  lies  the 
Piazza  di  Spagna,  a  gathering  place  for  tourists, 
with  fascinating  shops  filled  with  Roman  special¬ 
ties,  pearls,  corals,  and  gay  silks,  exquisite  photo¬ 
graphs,  etc.  A  long,  steep,  broad  flight  of  marble 
steps  descends  to  this  square,  or  one  may  take  an 
elevator.  Massed  against  the  lower  steps  are 
always  quantities  of  lovely  flowers,  their  bright 
colours  standing  out  against  the  marble  back¬ 
ground,  and  offered  at  what  seem  to  a  northerner 
ridiculously  low  prices.  Here,  too,  congregate  the 
models,  men,  women  and  children,  the  boys  brave 
in  velveteens,  the  girls  walking  about  or  standing 
in  groups  in  their  picturesque  costumes,  their  white 
head-dresses,  and  big  gold  earrings. 

Looking  off  beyond  this  picturesque  spot  you 
will  see  almost  the  whole  of  Rome.  The  domes  and 
towers  of  many  churches,  Castle  St.  Angelo,  be¬ 
yond  the  yellow  Tiber,  and  the  huge  dome  of  St. 
Peter’s,  with  further  towards  the  right  blue  hills 
set  with  villas.  This  is  a  spot  f rom  which  it  is  diffi¬ 
cult  to  tear  oneself  away.  One  tries  to  picture  the 
past  of  this  wonderful  city  in  comparison  with 

[109] 


Ancient  anb 


which  all  else  seems  so  new,  so  modern.  Even  the 
mixture  of  modern  buildings  with  the  mins  of  the 
past,  which  many  complain  has  robbed  Rome  of  its 
charm  for  them,  cannot  lessen  for  me  the  feeling 
of  awe  which  overpowers  one  at  almost  every  turn. 

Yet  Rome  is  also  intensely  modern.  Tourists 
usually  stay  in  the  high  new  portion  of  the  city 
rising  from  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  or  near  the  Via 
Nazionale.  Here  everything  except  an  occasional 
church  or  fountain  has  an  air  of  modernity.  Old 
palaces  have  been  renovated  and  turned  into  hotels 
or  pensions,  even  as  the  deadly  Roman  fever  has 
yielded  to  modern  methods  of  sanitation.  Cases  of 
this  fever,  save  in  the  inhabitants  of  the  Campagna 
are  now  rare,  and  with  ordinary  precautions  few 
foreigners  need  fear  it.  But  the  precautions  neces¬ 
sary  for  the  visitor  to  Rome  who  would  keep  his 
health  demand  that  wraps  should  be  carried  almost 
all  the  year  round,  no  matter  how  warm  the  day 
may  seem.  You  may  leave  your  door  to  step  out 
into  the  sunshine,  and  declare  that  it  is  summer, 
but  turning  a  corner  and  passing  into  the  shade,  or 
entering  one  of  the  narrow  streets  with  tall  build¬ 
ings  on  either  side,  where  the  sun  seldom  penetrates, 
or  visiting  some  marble  church  or  gallery,  a  chill 
strikes  through  to  the  bones.  Those  who  insist  upon 
sightseeing  for  the  entire  day  need  blame  no  one 
but  themselves  if  they  become  ill.  Any  Italian  will 
advise  rest  after  luncheon  in  the  early  afternoon 
as  they  themselves  do,  before  going  out  again,  for 

[  170  ] 


The  Aqueduct  of  Claudius,  Rome 


JRobevn  &ome 


the  climate  is  not  bracing.  Then  one  may  stay  out 
until  sundown,  and  the  late  afternoons  are  beauti¬ 
ful  indeed  in  Rome.  The  sky  is  of  so  deep  a  blue 
as  almost  to  seem  purple,  and  against  this  the  build¬ 
ings,  almost  all  of  a  pale  yellow  tone,  stand  out 
effectively.  By  five  o’clock  the  streets  are  filled 
with  people  again,  while  early  in  the  afternoons 
they  are  almost  deserted.  In  summer  sundown  does 
not  drive  them  in,  and  the  Roman  dinner  hour  at 
that  season  is  set  as  late  as  possible,  sometimes  even 
at  nine  o’clock.  Unless  one  is  a  mad  sightseer  there 
is  really  no  excuse  for  rushing  about  in  the  e^rly 
afternoon  in  Rome,  for  all  of  the  galleries  are 
closed  at  three  o’clock,  and  the  churches  close  at 
noon,  and  seldom  reopen  before  four. 

Electric  trams — the  English  word  is  used  all 
over  the  continent— run  all  over  the  city.  It  may 
shock  the  foreigner’s  artistic  sensibility  to  see  Tra¬ 
jan’s  Forum,  with  its  tall  column,  almost  sur¬ 
rounded  by  a  trolley  line,  or  to  be  warned  by  a 
clanging  bell  to  make  way  as  he  stands  gazing 
down  into  the  great  Forum,  with  its  wonderful 
monuments  of  the  past,  but  he  cannot  deny  its 
cheapness  and  convenience.  The  fare  is  from  ten 
to  twenty-five  centesimi,  according  to  the  distance. 
This  latter  fact  makes  it  somewhat  difficult  for  the 
foreigner  who  does  not  speak  Italian  and  wishes 
to  avail  himself  of  these  trams,  for  the  first  ques¬ 
tion  asked  by  the  conductor,  unless  he  is  handed  two 
or  three  soldi  before  he  has  time  to  ask,  whereupon 

[171] 


gnctent  ant 


lie  usually  assumes  that  the  passenger  knows  where 
he  wishes  to  go,  is  cc  Dove?” — where?  Sometimes 
the  luckless  stranger  makes  a  long  reply  in  English, 
and  this  is  usually  beyond  the  poor  conductor’s 
comprehension,  unless  he  can  catch  a  few  familiar 
names  of  places  or  streets,  for  which  he  will  listen 
politely,  and  recognize  them,  however  Anglicised 
as  to  pronunciation.  In  this  case  he  murmurs :  “  si, 
si”  gives  a  little  paper  ticket  or  receipt,  showing 
the  amount  paid,  which  the  passenger  is  warned  to 
keep,  not  only  so  that  he  may  not  be  asked  a  second 
time  for  his  fare,  but  also  because  from  time  to 
time  an  inspector  boards  the  tram  and  demands  to 
be  shown  all  these  tickets  to  prove  that  the  conduc¬ 
tor  has  really  collected  all  fares.  A  few  words  of 
Italian,  however  faltering,  or  sometimes  French 
will  suffice,  and  if  the  conductor  cannot  under¬ 
stand,  some  passenger  is  quite  sure  to  come  to  the 
rescue  and  do  everything  possible  to  secure  the  for¬ 
eigner’s  save  arrival  at  his  destination.  In  the 
shops  and  by  the  guides  and  custodians  of  public 
monuments  French  is  quite  generally  spoken.  The 
conductors  are  very  good  about  remembering  to  tell 
passengers  when  they  have  arrived  at  their  destina¬ 
tions,  nor  is  it  necessary  to  tip  them  for  this  as  we 
were  told  to  do  by  Germans  in  several  German 
cities. 

The  Romans  are  extremely  good-looking,  save 
the  elderly  women,  who  are  usually  wrinkled  and 
yellow.  Such  regular  features,  brilliant  colouring 

[  172] 


jRobern  &ome 


in  lips  and  olive  cheeks,  such  great,  soft  black  eyes 
with  long  thick  lashes  as  one  sees  on  every  side! 
Handsome  in  ordinary  clothes,  what  would  they  not 
be  in  the  picturesque  costumes  of  former  days,  for 
aside  from  the  nurses  and  models  there  is  little  trace 
of  anything  approaching  native  costume  now.  The 
Roman  women  of  this  class  have,  however,  one 
prominent  characteristic — the  love  of  jewelry.  On 
holidays  and  Sundays,  when  they  are  out  for 
amusement,  the  value  of  their  ornaments  is  really 
amazing  to  those  who  know  how  hard  they  must 
work  for  a  small  amount  of  money.  We  fancied 
at  first  that  this  was  all  imitation,  but  it  is  not.  The 
Roman  woman  scorns  imitation  jewelry.  The 
heavy  gold  chains  with  which  she  delights  to  deck 
herself  are  real,  and  so  are  the  pearl  or  diamond 
earrings  occasionally  seen,  hut  these  latter  not  as 
often  here  as  in  more  prosperous  Genoa.  A  Ro¬ 
man  explained  to  us  that  these  women  will  pinch 
and  save  from  their  small  earnings  to  purchase 
these  cherished  ornaments,  frequently  on  the  in¬ 
stalment  plan.  Another  Roman  trait  common  to 
all  classes  is  intense  pride  in  their  city.  Ask  one 
of  them  from  what  part  of  Italy  he  comes,  or  even 
if  he  is  an  Italian,  and  his  invariable  reply  will  be, 
after  drawing  himself  proudly  erect:  “ Sono  Ro¬ 
mano”  (I  am  a  Roman),  sometimes  adding:  “ di 
Roma  ”  to  show  that  he  is  actually  of  the  city  itself, 
not  by  chance  merely  a  native  of  the  province. 

IIow  many  years  would  he  necessary  before  one 
[173] 


Ancient  anb 


could  feel  that  lie  really  knew  Rome!  The  Ro¬ 
mans  delight  in  telling  a  story  of  two  men,  foreign¬ 
ers,  who  were  asked  if  they  knew  the  city.  The 
first  one  replied:  “Yes,  I  know  it  well.  I  have 
lived  here  for  six  months.”  The  second:  “Alas, 
no!  I  have  lived  here  but  ten  years.” 

Take  the  Forum,  for  instance.  The  arch  of 
Severus,  so  well  preserved  among  the  few  columns, 
all  that  remain  of  former  temples  whose  beauty  can 
be  divined  from  the  exquisite  fragments;  the  Ros¬ 
trum,  from  which  fiery  orators  harangued  the 
populace,  the  remains  of  the  huge  Basilica  of  Con¬ 
stantine,  whose  three  enormous  arches  of  masonry 
can  be  seen  far  across  the  city,  and  almost  at  the 
end  of  the  Forum,  the  Arch  of  Titus,  decorated 
with  beautiful  bas-reliefs;  all  these  the  most  con¬ 
spicuous  of  the  ruins  will  consume  much  time  even 
for  a  cursory  inspection.  On  the  inside  of  this 
latter  arch  the  triumphal  procession  of  Titus  is 
depicted,  and  among  the  trophies  can  plainly  be  dis¬ 
tinguished  the  seven-branched  candlestick  brought 
from  Jerusalem,  the  candlestick  of  which  repro¬ 
ductions  in  brass,  in  all  sizes  and  qualities  of 
workmanship,  are  found  everywhere  in  Rome,  and 
highly  popular  with  tourists.  The  temple  of  Vesta, 
and  the  home  of  the  Vestal  Virgins  is  another  fasci¬ 
nating  group  of  ruins,  and  so  are  the  different 
basilicae.  The  ruins  of  several  old  heathen  temples 
have  been  built  into  Catholic  churches,  and  duly 
consecrated.  Then  everyone  will  surely  wish  to 

[174] 


Jflobern  3\om c 


follow  a  guide  down  under  scaffoldings  protecting 
the  work  of  drainage  and  new  excavations  always 
in  progress,  up  near  the  Arch  of  Septimus  Severus. 
Here,  stooping  down  beneath  arches  of  stone,  he 
lights  a  candle,  and  points  out  the  tomb  of 
Romulus. 

New  discoveries  in  the  Forum  are  constantly 
being  made,  as  a  result  of  the  excavations.  Within 
the  last  ten  years  a  large  church  with  some  fine  ex¬ 
amples  of  wrall  frescoes  has  been  entirely  excavated 
over  against  the  Palatine  Hill. 

Beyond  the  Forum  is  the  third  well  preserved 
arch,  that  of  Constantine,  beneath  which  wagons 
and  carriages  are  continuously  passing,  for  the  road 
is  one  of  the  main  thoroughfares  out  into  the  coun¬ 
try,  and  to  the  Appian  Way.  Close  by  is  the  Coli¬ 
seum,  and  no  matter  how  long  one  wanders  by 
daylight  about  the  vast  ruin,  with  its  lofty  passages, 
its  massive  stone  stairs  leading  to  the  remaining 
galleries  or  portions  of  them,  it  surely  must  be  re¬ 
visited  by  moonlight.  The  effect  then  quite  comes 
up  to  any  preconceived  ideas.  Those  who  care  to 
see  this  ruin  thus  maltreated  will  undoubtedly  have 
an  opportunity,  if  the  weather  be  fine,  to  see  it  illu¬ 
minated,  when  flashlights  dart  over  the  surround¬ 
ing  ruins  from  the  Palatine  Hill,  while  red  and 
green  fires  burn  in  the  old  Arena  which  has  been 
the  scene  of  such  terrible  combats,  and  perhaps  a 
band  crashes  on  the  very  spot  where  gladiators  and 
martyrs  have  died. 


[175] 


Ancient  anb 


And  how  many  mornings  might  be  spent  in  wan¬ 
dering  over  the  Palatine  Hill,  with  its  ruins  of  the 
palaces  of  the  Cassars,  where  visitors  are  free  to 
pass  at  will  up  and  down  great  flights  of  steps,  and 
thread  passages,  marvelling  at  the  massive  masonry 
beside  which  our  modern  buildings  seem  such 
flimsy,  insignificant  erections !  These  massive  walls, 
which  even  ruined  seem  able  to  withstand  centuries, 
arouse  wonder,  but  almost  equally  so  does  the  force 
of  the  attacking  barbarians  which  could  reduce 
them  to  ruins,  substantial  as  they  were.  Livy’s 
house,  protected  by  a  glaringly  modern  zinc  roof, 
has  walls  covered  with  frescoes  in  a  fair  state  of 
preservation,  and  almost  the  only  ones  of  that 
period  left  in  Rome.  Here,  too,  are  water  pipes 
quite  modern  looking,  still  remaining  attached 
to  various  portions  of  the  walls,  despite  the  cen¬ 
turies  that  have  elapsed  since  their  task  was  ful¬ 
filled. 

The  tall  tower  of  the  Capitol,  on  Capitol — or 
Campidoglio — Hill  near  by,  is  a  conspicuous 
object.  Here  are  the  famous  museums,  second  only 
to  the  Vatican,  with  their  wealth  of  antique  statues. 
Michelangelo’s  hand  was  at  work  here.  The  Piazza 
del  Campidoglio  was  laid  out  in  accordance  with 
his  plans.  He  designed  the  pedestal  in  the  centre 
which  supports  the  statue  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  and 
the  beautiful  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  entrance 
of  the  Palace  of  the  Senate,  built  over  the  ancient 
Tabularium. 


[176] 


Jflobern  &ome 


Close  to  the  Capitoline  Museum — it  can  be 
reached  by  a  flight  of  steps  at  the  side — is  the 
Church  of  Santa  Maria  d’Aracoeli,  very  old,  with 
frescoes  by  Pinturicchio,  and  a  chapel  of  St. 
Helena,  a  canopy  supported  by  alabaster  columns, 
beneath  which  is  an  altar  above  the  remains  of  the 
saint,  or  so  they  will  tell  you.  But  this  church  is 
the  abode  of  the  “Bambino”  to  the  sceptical  a  large 
doll,  tricked  out  in  gorgeous  raiment,  to  the  devout 
an  object  of  j>rayer  and  adoration,  a  wonder-work¬ 
ing  image.  It  is  often  sent  for  by  sick  persons 
who  have  faith  in  its  efficacy.  On  such  occasions 
a  priest  always  accompanies  it  in  its  own  carriage, 
drawn  by  its  own  pair  of  horses.  The  priest  re¬ 
mains  while  the  visit  is  paid,  and  then  accompanies 
it  back  to  its  home,  a  glass  case.  The  following 
remarkable  story  is  told  about  this  image: 

Some  years  ago  a  sick  woman  once  sent  for  the 
“  Bambino ”  and  begged  the  priest  to  leave  it  over¬ 
night  that  her  recovery  might  be  the  more  sure  and 
speedy.  But  her  illness  was  a  wretched  trick.  She 
had  secured  a  wax  doll  resembling  the  "  Bambino ” 
in  every  respect,  save  its  marvellous  attributes.  This 
doll  she  dressed  in  the  Bambino's  ”  garments,  and 
when  the  carriage  and  pair  brought  the  priest  for 
his  charge  the  next  day,  the  doll  was  given  into  his 
care,  and,  unsuspecting,  he  bore  it  away  with  him. 
The  narrative  neglects  to  state  for  what  purpose 
the  wicked  woman  wished  to  keep  the  true  "  Bam¬ 
bino”  whether  that  she  alone  might  profit  by  its 

[  177] 


Ancient  anti 


wonder-working,  its  healing  powers,  or  from  exces¬ 
sive  though  misplaced  devotion.  That  night,  as 
the  priests  slept  in  the  convent  adjoining  the  church 
— now  destroyed — a  knocking  was  heard  at  the 
door.  They  went  down,  but  hesitated  to  open  the 
door  because  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  As  they 
hesitated,  little  pink  toes  appeared  under  the  door, 
and  opening,  they  found  the  real  ^  Bambino  ”  try¬ 
ing  to  get  back  to  its  home,  and  only  then  was  the 
trick  discovered.  Since  then,  when  the  Bambino 
pays  visits  it  is  never  let  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
attendant  priest. 

If  you  leave  the  Piazza  del  Campidoglio  by  the 
flight  of  steps  opposite  the  Palace  of  the  Senate, 
and  near  the  main  entrance  of  the  church,  you  will 
see  amid  the  shrubbery  on  the  side  of  the  hill  a  kind 
of  grotto.  This  is  the  home  of  the  celebrated  wolf, 
kept  here  in  honour  of  an  old  tradition  which  de¬ 
clared  the  prosperity  of  Rome  involved  in  so  doing. 
When  the  wolf,  which  had  been  there  for  some  time, 
died  a  few  years  ago,  it  was  quite  long  before  a 
suitable  live  one  could  be  found  to  replace  it.  The 
people  mourned  its  loss,  especially  the  children,  and 
there  was  some  superstitious  alarm  felt.  Finally 
a  large  grey  wolf  was  safely  placed  in  the  grotto, 
behind  the  iron  bars  enclosing  a  small  open  space  in 
front  of  its  entrance,  which  constitutes  with  the 
grotto  itself  the  domain  of  Sir  Wolf.  To  the  de¬ 
light  of  the  children,  instead  of  the  retiring,  moody 
disposition  of  its  predecessor,  who  could  seldom  be 

[  178  ] 


Jtlobern  &ome 


induced  to  leave  the  dark  recesses  of  the  grotto, 
this  one  is  quite  a  sociable  animal,  and  spends  most 
of  its  time  close  to  the  bars. 

Curiosity  may  send  one  to  the  church  of  San 
Agostino,  to  see  the  wonder-working  Madonna  and 
Child.  As  you  enter,  between  the  two  doors  is  the 
marble  statue,  in  a  niche.  Lamps  burn  ever  before 
it,  and  a  priest  is  continually  on  guard.  Some  de¬ 
clare  that  the  mother  and  child  are  antique,  a  statue 
intended  to  portray  Nero  and  his  mother,  and  cer¬ 
tainly  the  hard,  regular  features  of  the  woman  seem 
much  more  suggestive  of  a  Roman  matron  of  that 
type  than  of  a  Madonna,  nor  is  there  any  sugges¬ 
tion  of  holiness  in  the  face  of  the  baby.  However, 
it  is  as  the  Madonna  and  Child  that  they  now  figure. 
Both  are  loaded  with  jewels,  set  in  rings,  earrings, 
bracelets,  necklaces,  and  all  possible  adornments. 
The  legs  of  the  infant  are  wrapped  in  gold  chains, 
everywhere  that  jewels  can  be  hung  they  are,  and 
two  enormous  crowns  of  gold  and  jewels  surmount 
their  heads.  The  priest  is  there  to  guard  this 
wealth.  An  inscription  beneath  the  statue  pro¬ 
claims  that  “  Pope  Pius  VII.  concedes  in  perpetu¬ 
ity  one  hundred  days  of  indulgence  to  all  who  kiss 
the  foot  of  this  image  devoutly,  reciting  an  Ave 
Maria,”  etc.  It  is  not  necessary  to  wait  long  to  see 
the  foot  kissed.  The  majority  of  those  who  enter 
the  church  hasten  to  do  so.  Nor  is  this  all  of  the 
strange  sight.  The  entire  rear  wall,  and  even  the 
organ  loft  above,  are  covered  with  votive  off erings, 

[179] 


gnctent  anil 


less  valuable  than  the  jewels  which  have  been  be¬ 
stowed.  There  are  large  quantities  of  the  familiar 
silver  and  tinsel  hearts,  and  various  gifts  com¬ 
memorating  “  miracles.”  A  daub  of  painting  rep¬ 
resents  a  man  falling  from  a  bridge,  and  beneath 
is  inscribed:  “This  man  (then  follows  the  name) 
fell  from  such  and  such  a  bridge,  and  broke  many 
bones.  He  was  brought  on  a  stretcher  before  this 
Madonna,  and  the  bones  quickly  knit  and  he  re¬ 
covered.  He  offers  this  picture  in  thankfulness.” 
The  frock  of  a  small  child  was  enclosed  in  a  frame, 
and  hung  on  the  wall.  It  was  labelled:  “This 
child  had  cerebro-spinal  meningitis,  and  was  given 
up  by  the  doctors.  She  was  carried  before  the 
Madonna’s  image,  and  at  once  began  to  recover.” 
There  are  many,  many  more  of  these  tokens. 

The  most  hurried  tourist  must  perforce  devote 
several  days  or  portions  of  days  to  the  collections 
of  the  Vatican,  for  different  ones  are  open  on  dif¬ 
ferent  days.  The  statuary  and  Sistine  Chapel,  that 
wonder  of  the  world,  with  the  rooms  decorated  by 
Raphael,  and  the  small  picture  gallery,  only  four 
or  five  rooms,  but  the  contents  all  masterpieces,  may 
be  seen  every  day  but  Sundays  and  Fridays,  and  so 
may  the  library,  but  the  entrance  to  the  latter  is  far 
removed  from  that  of  the  picture  gallery.  In  addi¬ 
tion  to  these  are  the  Etruscan,  the  Egyptian  collec¬ 
tions,  the  Borgia  apartments,  the  tapestries  and 
other  smaller  rooms. 

When  the  Italian  government  took  possession 
[  180  ] 


jHobern  &ome 


of  Rome,  one  of  the  stipulations  made  with  the 
Vatican  was  that  its  wonderful  collections  should 
remain  open  to  the  public,  but  no  Italian  officer 
may  present  himself  there  in  his  uniform. 

The  ever-present  electric  tram  will  take  you  from 
almost  any  part  of  Rome  to  the  beautiful  Piazza  of 
St.  Peter’s,  and  one  line  even  passes  beneath  the 
columns  of  one  portico.  In  the  centre  of  the  huge 
square  rises  the  tall  obelisk,  with  fountains  plash¬ 
ing  on  either  side;  the  beautiful  porticoes  begin  at 
the  church  in  the  background  and  curve  around  the 
Piazza  on  two  sides,  as  illustrations  have  made 
familiar  even  to  those  who  have  not  seen  it  for 
themselves.  Back  at  the  right  is  the  huge  mass  of 
the  Vatican,  which  is  said  to  contain  14,000  rooms, 
although  this  seems  difficult  to  believe.  The  major¬ 
ity  of  people  will  agree  that  from  this  point  of 
view  out  in  the  Piazza  the  dome  of  St.  Peter’s 
almost  disappears,  robbing  it  somewhat  of  the  ma¬ 
jestic  appearance  which  should  belong  to  it  when 
its  height  and  size  are  considered.  Only  from  a 
greater  distance  does  it  seem  to  tower  above  the 
church  itself.  An  enormous  flight  of  marble  steps 
leads  up  to  the  five  doors  beneath  the  beautiful  por¬ 
tico,  supported  by  Corinthian  pillars.  The  en¬ 
trance  to  the  Sistine  Chapel,  the  Raphael  loggia, 
the  picture  gallery,  and  little  chapel  of  Nicholas  V., 
decorated  with  frescoes  by  Fra  Angelico,  but 
several  times  restored,  is  through  a  door  at  the  ex¬ 
treme  right  end  of  the  right  hand  colonnade.  The 

[181] 


Ancient  anb 


barracks  of  the  Pope’s  Swiss  guard  also  open  off 
tliis  colonnade,  and  several  of  these  guards  are 
always  standing  about.  Their  uniform  is  pecu¬ 
liarly,  uniquely  ugly.  Bright  yellow  and  black 
stockings,  low  shoes  with  large  buckles,  and  pre¬ 
sumably  knee-breeches,  which  are,  however,  entirely 
covered  by  a  long,  baggy  grey  coat.  Entering 
and  passing  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  a  member  of 
the  Papal  carabinieri  in  black  and  silver  uniform, 
hands  each  visitor  a  ticket  with  several  coupons, 
which  are  detached  by  guards  at  the  doors  of  the 
different  rooms.  One  of  these  carabinieri  is  on 
guard  in  the  sola  regia ,  the  large  apartment  serving 
as  a  vestibule  to  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  the  first 
room  visited.  A  door  at  the  side,  always  kept 
closed,  opens  into  the  Sistine  Chapel.  It  is  neces¬ 
sary  only  to  knock  and  an  old  attendant  opens  it, 
and  carefully  closes  it  after  the  visitors.  Carved 
seats,  raised  several  feet  above  the  floor,  run  down 
the  sides,  and  partly  across  the  back  of  this  chapel, 
and  here  people  may  sit  to  view  the  wonderful  fres¬ 
coes  high  above  on  side  and  entrance  walls,  with,  at 
the  opposite  end,  the  huge  “  Last  Judgment,”  with 
its  myriads  of  figures  in  every  possible  attitude. 
Here  Michelangelo  seems  to  have  gloried  in  repre¬ 
senting  the  human  form  in  the  most  difficult,  con¬ 
torted  attitudes,  as  though  revelling  in  his  mastery 
of  anatomy  and  drawing.  A  mirror  and  opera 
glasses  are  necessary  to  examine  the  frescoed  ceil¬ 
ing  with  anything  like  comfort,  and  if  these  have 

t  182  ] 


JHobern  $\ome 


been  forgotten  or  merely  left  behind  the  custodian 
will  furnish  them  in  expectation  of  a  small  tip. 
When  one  is  ready  to  leave  this  room,  or  the  flight 
of  time  demands  that  he  do  so,  he  returns  to  the 
entrance  hall  and  turns  up  a  long,  narrow  staircase, 
evidently  a  back  stair,  with  bare  stone  walls  on 
either  side.  Up  and  up  he  mounts,  until  he  reaches 
a  small  door  ojjening  on  a  corridor,  where  are  a  few 
very  large,  very  modern  paintings,  all  of  religious 
subjects.  Two  rooms  of  similar  works  come  next. 
Then  comes  the  “  Hall  of  the  Immaculate  Concep¬ 
tion,”  decorated  with  frescoes  representing  the 
promulgation  of  this  dogma  on  the  8th  of  Decem¬ 
ber,  1854.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  was,  until 
recently,  a  huge  kind  of  tabernacle,  a  mass  of  silver, 
mosaics,  and  inlaid  medallions,  given  to  Pope  Leo 
XIII.  by  the  French  clergy  in  1878,  and  containing 
the  text  of  the  dogma  in  many  languages.  Open¬ 
ing  out  of  this  room  come  the  four  rooms  with  their 
frescoed  walls  and  ceilings,  the  work  of  Raphael, 
and  after  his  death,  of  his  pupils,  from  their  mas¬ 
ter’s  designs.  Beyond  is  the  loggia,  often  called 
Raphael’s  Bible.  The  gallery  extends  around  three 
sides  of  a  court,  but  two  sides  were  decorated  much 
later,  and  are  decidedly  inferior  to  the  Raphael 
Bible. 

The  other  collections,  the  huge  galleries  of  the 
antique,  the  most  wonderful  collection  of  statues 
in  the  world,  the  Egyptian  and  Etruscan  galleries, 
the  tapestries  and  the  great  Vatican  library,  are 

[  183] 


Ancient  ant 


open  during  the  same  hours  of  the  day,  but  not 
every  day,  and  for  this  reason  at  least  three  visits 
are  necessary,  even  for  the  most  hurried  tourist. 
The  Borgia  apartments  are  interesting,  with  beauti¬ 
ful  frescoes  of  highly  religious  nature,  and  they 
may  be  seen  on  two  days  of  the  week  only. 

But  the  most  prominent  object  in  the  Piazza  has 
been  left  for  the  last,  the  great  cathedral  itself, 
rising  in  imposing  majesty  in  the  background.  At 
first  entrance  the  actual  size  of  the  church  is  not 
realized.  Of  course  it  seems  very  large,  and  almost 
glaringly  light  if  it  be  a  bright,  sunny  day.  The 
windows  are  of  white,  not  stained  glass,  the  interior 
is  entirely  of  marble,  scarcely  relieved  by  any 
colour  except  the  mosaics  around  the  interior  of 
the  immense  dome.  The  decorations  are  chiefly 
marble  statues  on  tombs,  and  at  the  end,  back  of  the 
main  altar  and  the  famous  chair  of  St.  Peter,  the 
work  of  Bernini,  is  a  mass  of  gilt  rays,  surrounding 
the  lofty  chair,  and  ugly  statues,  the  whole  almost 
tawdry.  But  when,  quite  by  accident,  the  visitor 
discovers  that  a  service  is  being  conducted  in  one 
of  the  chapels,  perhaps  in  the  large  choir  chapel, 
the  Sistine  choir  singing,  the  full  organ  being 
played,  and  realizes  that  further  down  the  nave  not 
a  sound  of  this  service  is  audible,  then  he  begins  to 
realize  the  immense  size  of  the  building,  the  largest 
cathedral  in  Christendom,  and  almost  twice  the  size 
of  the  cathedral  of  Milan.  Of  all  the  statues  that 
it  contains,  two  are  especially  noteworthy.  The 

[  184  ]  ' 


jRobern  &ome 


exquisite  Pieta,  by  Michelangelo,  which,  like  many 
of  the  most  noteworthy  statues  and  paintings  in 
Roman  churches,  is  covered  during  Holy  Week, 
and  not  to  be  seen,  and,  secondly,  the  bronze  statue 
of  St.  Peter,  in  a  marble  chair.  This  latter  statue 
is  said  to  date  from  the  thirteenth  century,  and  the 
faithful  kiss  the  foot  which  protrudes  from  the  gar¬ 
ment,  which,  in  consequence,  has  been  worn  away 
and  replaced.  On  high  festivals,  especially  that  of 
St.  Peter,  this  statue  is  arrayed  in  gorgeous  robes 
and  jewels. 

Beneath  the  dome — in  the  nave — is  a  huge 
bronze  canopy  supported  by  twisted  gilded  pillars, 
surmounting  the  high  altar  at  which  only  the 
Pope  or  his  delegate  may  officiate.  Back  of  this  is 
another  altar  used  for  ordinary  occasions.  In  front 
of  the  canopy  is  a  railed  off  opening,  surrounded 
by  eighty-nine  perpetually  burning  lamps.  A 
double  flight  of  marble  steps  here  descends  to  the 
“  Confessional,”  and  at  the  foot  of  these  steps  is  a 
marble  statue  of  Pope  Pius  VI.  kneeling  in  prayer, 
by  Canova. 

In  the  sacristy  are  a  few  good  paintings,  and  the 
charming  Angel  Musicians,  frescoes  by  Melozzo  da 
Forli,  and  also  the  church  treasure. 

Although  the  ascent  to  the  top  of  the  dome 
means  a  long  climb,  it  well  repays  the  exertion.  A 
spiral  incline,  reached  by  a  small  door  at  the  left  of 
the  nave,  near  the  door  of  the  sacristy,  ends  in  a 
door  opening  upon  the  roof  of  the  church  proper. 

[185] 


Ancient  anb 


Here  the  view  is  magnificent,  and  one  can  examine 
at  close  range  the  enormous  statues  of  Christ  and 
the  twelve  apostles  which  surmount  the  front  cor¬ 
nice,  and  are  so  dwarfed  when  seen  from  the  Piazza 
far  below.  An  outer  staircase  rises  from  the  roof 
at  the  side  of  the  great  dome,  to  another  door,  where 
begins  the  steep,  narrow,  winding  staircase  which 
ascends  between  the  double  walls  of  the  dome  to  the 
two  inner  galleries  entirely  encircling  the  dome. 
From  the  higher  of  the  two  heralds  sound  the  silver 
trumpets  when  the  Pope  officiates  at  a  service,  and 
from  these  two  galleries  the  mosaics  covering  the 
entire  inner  surface  of  the  dome  can  be  examined, 
and  looking  down  one  receives  some  idea  of  the 
enormous  size  of  the  church,  for  people  on  the  pave¬ 
ment  below  look  like  flies.  After  reaching  the  little 
outside  gallery  at  the  very  top  of  the  dome,  it  is 
possible  to  climb  still  higher,  up  a  steep  ladder, 
into  the  gilded  ball  which  surmounts  it,  but  we 
were  quite  satisfied  to  stop  at  the  summit  of  the 
dome. 

They  say  that  there  are  365  churches  in  Rome, 
one  for  every  day  in  the  year,  but  whether  this  be 
true  or  not,  at  least  there  are  very  many  of  interest. 
One  of  the  most  interesting  is  the  extremely  old 
San  Lorenzo  fuori  Mura  (St.  Lawrence  Without 
the  Walls).  A  primitive  little  conveyance,  half 
stage,  half  car,  drawn  by  horses,  starts  from  the 
station  and  stops  at  the  cemetery  gate,  close  beside 
which  is  the  church,  a  part  of  which,  supposed  to 

[186] 


The  Madonna  of  San  Agostino 


ifflobern  &ome 


have  been  founded  by  Constantine  the  Great,  was 
restored  in  the  seventh  century.  The  entrance  wall 
is  covered  on  the  outside  with  old  frescoes.  Enter¬ 
ing,  a  nave  is  divided  by  two  rows  of  unequal  gran¬ 
ite  columns,  supporting  walls  covered  with  more 
frescoes,  representing  scenes  from  the  lives  of  St. 
Stephen  and  St.  Lawrence.  The  pavement  is  old 
and  irregular,  and  dates  from  the  thirteenth  cen¬ 
tury.  Beyond  this  nave  steps  ascend  to  another 
construction,  with  exquisite  columns  of  so-called 
violet  marble,  supporting  an  architrave  composed 
of  antique  fragments.  The  triumphal  arch  divid¬ 
ing  these  two  sections  of  the  church  is  covered  with 
old  mosaics  of  the  sixth  and  seventh  centuries,  for 
this  is  the  oldest  portion  of  the  building,  although 
much  restored.  Below  is  the  crypt,  and,  back  of 
this,  in  what  was  once  the  vestibule  of  the  old  build¬ 
ing,  is  the  tomb  of  Pope  Pius  IX.,  simple  in  itself, 
but  the  walls  of  the  room  are  covered  with  mosaics, 
and  with  the  coats  of  arms  of  the  different  relig¬ 
ious  orders. 

St.  Paul  Without  the  Walls  is  a  very  beautiful 
church,  with  its  rows  of  white  marble  columns  run¬ 
ning  the  length  of  the  nave,  but  it  is  quite  modern, 
replacing  an  older  one  destroyed  by  fire.  The 
beautiful  cloister  adjoining  it  is,  however,  old,  and 
was  completed  in  the  thirteenth  century.  This 
church,  too,  is  at  the  end  of  a  tram  line.  The  trams 
run  only  every  half  hour,  and  on  leaving  the  church, 
after  running  the  gauntlet  of  large  numbers  of 

[  187] 


Ancient  anb 


beggars,  the  visitor  is  beset  by  dealers  in  mosaics, 
and,  of  course,  the  inevitable  post  cards.  It  is  diffi¬ 
cult  to  escape  these  venders,  for  one  is  quite  at  their 
mercy  until  the  tram  arrives,  and  there  is  no  place 
in  the  vicinity  to  wait.  Their  prices  descend  with 
amazing  swiftness,  so  by  bargaining  it  is  quite  pos¬ 
sible  to  make  purchases  at  about  double  the  cost  in 
a  Roman  shop. 

San  Pietro  in  Vincoli  ( St.  Peter  in  Bonds)  con¬ 
tains  the  tomb  of  Pop°  Julius  II.,  with  the  cele¬ 
brated  “Moses,”  by  Michelangelo,  and  the  less 
noted  statues  of  Rachel  and  Leah.  By  feeing  the 
sacristan  those  desirous  may  see  the  chains  of  St. 
Peter,  which  are  kept  beneath  the  high  altar,  and 
are  exhibited  to  the  people  on  August  1st. 

San  Giovanni  in  Laterano  is  another  famous  old 
church.  Once  the  cathedral  of  Rome,  it  is  one  of 
the  five  patriarchal  churches  of  Rome,  the  others 
being  St.  Peter’s — the  old  St.  Peter’s,  said  to  have 
been  built  by  Constantine  the  Great  on  the  site  of 
the  present  edifice — San  Lorenzo,  Santa  Maria 
Maggiore — one  of  eighty  churches  named  for  the 
Virgin  in  Rome — and  San  Paolo.  With  two  other 
churches,  Santa  Croce  in  Gerusalemme,  and  San 
Sebastiano,  these  constitute  the  “  seven  churches  of 
Rome  ”  visited  by  pilgrims.  The  church  of  San 
Giovanni  in  Laterano,  with  its  adjoining  great 
palace,  now  a  museum,  was,  like  the  Vatican,  ac¬ 
corded  the  privilege  of  exterritoriality  when  the 
city  of  Rome  passed  from  the  hands  of  the  Pope 

[  188] 


iWobern  &omc 


into  those  of  United  Italy.  It  stands  in  a  great 
piazza,  close  to  the  city  gate  of  the  same  name.  In 
the  piazza  is  a  tall  Egyptian  obelisk  of  red  granite, 
brought  to  Rome  in  357  a.d.  The  baptistery,  an 
octagonal  building  at  the  rear  of  the  church,  is  more 
interesting  than  the  church  itself,  the  latter  having 
been  much  restored.  For  a  long  time  this  was  the 
only  baptistery  in  Rome,  so  all  children  were  bap¬ 
tized  here.  Eight  porphry  columns  surround  the 
depressed  centre  where  is  the  baptismal  font.  These 
were  the  gift  of  the  Emperor  Constantine  the 
Great,  who  is  said  to  have  been  baptized  here.  At 
the  right  massive  bronze  doors  open  into  the  oratory 
of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  added  to  the  main  building 
in  the  fifth  century.  These  doors  are  known  as  the 
musical  doors.  It  is  as  much  as  a  man  can  do  to 
open  them,  and  as  they  turn  slowly  on  their  great 
hinges,  they  emit  a  tone  like  that  of  a  great  church 
organ,  gradually  varying  in  pitch  as  the  door  opens 
or  closes.  Opposite  this  oratory  is  another,  with 
beautiful  mosaics,  and  at  the  rear  a  third,  with  more 
beautiful  mosaics,  these  of  the  seventh  century. 

The  museum,  in  addition  to  paintings,  has  a  col¬ 
lection  of  Christian  sarcophagi,  and  copies  of  the 
paintings  in  the  catacombs.  Here  on  this  Piazza 
San  Giovanni  is  the  Scala  Santa ,  the  supposed  stair¬ 
case  of  Pilate’s  palace  in  Jerusalem,  holy  because 
Christ  ascended  it,  and  brought  here  in  324  by  the 
Empress  Helena.  It  is  composed  of  twenty-eight 
marble  steps,  which  may  be  ascended  on  the  knees 

[189] 


Ancient  anti 


only,  but  there  is  another  stairway  at  each  side  for 
those  who  wish  to  walk  up.  In  Holy  Week  good 
Catholics  flock  there  to  make  the  ascent  on  their 
knees. 

One  of  the  churches  much  visited  is  that  of  the 
Capuchins.  The  church  itself  is  not  the  attraction, 
although  it  contains  Guido  Reni’s  beautiful  “  St. 
Michael.”  One  of  the  monks  takes  visitors  back 
through  various  chapels  to  a  staircase  which  de¬ 
scends  to  the  remarkable  cemetery  of  the  brothers. 
A  corridor  with  windows  opening  on  a  dingy  paved 
courtyard  of  the  monastery  is  all  that  one  may 
notice  at  first,  but  the  guide — ours  was  a  round, 
ruddy  little  Hollander,  with  a  most  cheerful 
expression,  not  in  the  least  depressed  by  his  sur¬ 
roundings — will  hasten  to  point  out  a  kind  of  orna¬ 
mental  (?)  frieze  composed  of  bones.  These  once 
belonged  to  Capuchin  monks.  Five  or  six  alcoves 
are  separated  from  the  other  side  of  the  corridor 
merely  by  a  low  railing.  These  alcoves  contain  a 
layer  of  earth  brought  from  Palestine,  and  in  this 
the  monks  are  buried.  But  accommodations  are 
limited.  Perhaps  fifty  in  all  might  find  burial  in 
the  alcoves,  and  so  for  the  next  corpse  the  one  of 
these  first  buried  is  exhumed,  and  so  on.  The 
bones  of  the  exhumed  bodies  are  arranged  in  com¬ 
pact  piles  around  the  alcoves,  or  form  niches  in 
which  are  stood  those  bodies  best  preserved.  The 
soil  is  supposed  to  act  as  a  preservative,  and  a  few 
of  their  ghastly  forms  are  still  to  be  seen  in  their 

[  190  ] 


jHobern  &ome 


brown  robes,  their  rosaries  at  their  waists,  with 
parchment-like  skin  still  clinging  to  their  bones.  It 
is  hard  to  imagine  anything  much  more  ghastly, 
save  the  similar  burial  place  in  Palermo,  even  more 
horrible. 

The  Pantheon,  the  only  antique  temple  existing 
intact  in  Rome,  was  consecrated  as  a  Christian 
church  by  Pope  Boniface  IV.  under  the  name  of 
St.  Mary  of  the  Martyrs,  but  services  are  seldom 
held  in  it,  save  masses  in  memory  of  the  dead  buried 
here.  Besides  many  artists,  there  are  temporary 
tombs  of  King  Victor  Emanuel  II.  and  King 
Humbert.  The  tomb  and  monument  to  the  former 
now  building,  will  be  very  magnificent,  but  will 
hardly  be  completed  for  years,  involving  a  great 
expenditure  of  money,  for  not  only  is  the  monu¬ 
ment  itself  very  large  and  imposing,  but  many 
buildings  are  to  be  torn  down  to  make  an  open 
space  around  it,  and  a  broad  approach.  The  con¬ 
vent  which  formerly  adjoined  the  church  of  Santa 
Maria  Aracoeli  is  one  of  these  already  demolished. 

Santa  Maria  sopra  Minerva  was  constructed 
upon  the  ruins  of  a  temple  to  Minerva;  the  church 
of  St.  Adrea  was  built  over  a  portion  of  the 
ruined  Curia  Julia  in  the  Forum,  and  a  star  be¬ 
neath  the  cupola  is  supposed  to  mark  the  exact  spot 
where  Julius  Csesar  fell.  Many  other  churches  are 
interesting,  both  because  of  their  works  of  art,  and 
for  the  memorable  events  which  have  taken  place 
within  their  walls. 


f  191] 


Ancient  anb 


The  drive  along  the  Appian  Way,  with  ruins  on 
either  hand,  sometimes  a  mere  fragment  near  a 
modern  farmhouse,  at  others  a  tower,  out  as  far  as 
the  circular  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella,  visible  for  a 
long  distance  over  the  undulating  Campcigna,  may 
be  taken  in  one  afternoon,  including  visits  to 
several  of  the  numerous  catacombs,  unless  one 
wishes  to  make  an  exhaustive  study  of  these  latter. 
Those  usually  visited  are  the  catacombs  of  St. 
Calixtus,  and  St.  Sebastian,  but  very  extensive 
ones,  the  catacombs  of  St.  Domitilla,  with  the 
fourth  century  basilica  of  St.  Petronilla  built  over 
their  entrance,  have  been  excavated  comparatively 
recently.  Twenty-six  kilometres  of  passages  have 
already  been  opened,  although  of  course  visitors 
are  taken  over  but  a  small  portion  of  these  for  the 
regular  entrance  fee.  They  are  said  to  be  the 
largest  of  all  the  catacombs  of  Rome,  yet  not  until 
he  had  driven  us  to  three  others,  and  been  told: 
“  No,  no,  San  Domitilla!  ”  and  appealed  to  all  the 
other  cab  drivers  he  met,  did  our  man  finally  find 
them,  for  the  others  were  the  ones  more  usually 
visited.  On  the  road  to  all  these  catacombs  one  will 
pass,  not  far  from  the  city  gate  of  San  Sebastiano 
the  church  "  Quo  V adis.” 

Our  driver  that  day  was  a  cheery  Italian.  He 
had  for  years  been  coachman  for  a  private  family 
before  driving  his  cab.  He  remarked  that  he  had 
sometimes  thought  that  he  would  like  to  go  to 
America,  for  he  had  heard  that  it  was  easy  to  make 

[  192  ] 


Jflobern  Rome 


much  money  there,  but  did  not  believe  that  he  ever 
should  go  now.  Asked  if  times  were  hard  in  Italy, 
he  replied: 

“  Yes,  taxes  are  high,  very  high,  but  it  cannot  be 
helped.  We  must  have  a  big  army  and  navy,  and 
keep  up  the  government.  I  remember  the  old  times 
when  Rome  belonged  to  the  Pope,  and  when  the 
streets  were  not  safe  after  dark,  and  there  was 
much  fever.  Oh,  yes,  we  are  better  off  now,  even 
with  heavy  taxes.  The  only  thing  is  that  it  is  hard 
to  save  any  money  for  old  age.  When  I  served  my 
three  years  in  the  army  I  thought  I  did  not  like  it, 
but  now,  if  I  had  it  all  to  do  over  again,  I  should 
remain  a  soldier.  Then  when  one  gets  old  he  has 
a  pension,  and  before  that  he  is  well  looked  after, 
and  has  good  food,  clothes  and  lodging.” 

Of  course  not  all  the  working  people  take  this 
cheerful  view  of  the  situation,  although  foreigners 
familiar  with  circumstances  ten  years  or  so  back,  all 
speak  of  the  improvement  they  see  all  over  the 
country ;  nor  does  one  find  now,  in  spite  of  poverty, 
quite  such  a  desperate  state  of  affairs  in  Rome  as 
Zola  described  wrhen  his  “  Rome  ”  was  written.  An 
Italian  gentleman  owning  a  great  deal  of  property 
in  land,  admitted  that  his  taxes  amounted  to  one- 
half  of  his  income,  but  he  was,  nevertheless,  an 
ardent  monarchist.  Italy  has  been  fortunate  in  her 
kings.  The  present  one,  unless  state  occasions 
demand  show  and  ceremony,  likes  to  live  in  truly 
democratic  simplicity,  and  gives  generously  to  the 

[  193] 


Ancient  anb 


poor  and  to  charitable  institutions  from  his  large 
private  fortune.  When  foreigners  comment  upon 
the  various  things  lacking  in  Italy,  they  seldom 
take  into  consideration  the  actual  newness  of  the 
country,  a  United  Italy  only  since  1870,  and  the 
enormous  expenses  which  the  government  was 
forced  to  assume  when  Italy  took  possession  of  all 
the  former  papal  possessions  and  the  Kingdom  of 
Naples  and  Sicily.  During  the  years  of  Bourbon 
misrule,  corruption  and  waste,  nothing  was  done 
for  the  people  of  these  two  countries.  Everything 
had  to  be  done  by  the  new  government,  streets 
paved,  drainage  and  a  supply  of  good  water  fur¬ 
nished,  lighting  for  the  streets,  etc.  All  this  left 
insufficient  sums  for  the  establishment  of  schools  in 
a  section  where  there  were  almost  none.  It  is  little 
wonder  that  the  population  of  this  section  is  not 
nearly  as  well  educated  as  that  of  the  north,  where 
these  advantages  have  existed  far  longer,  and  where 
the  rulers  have  been,  in  many  cases  at  least,  quite 
different  men.  In  the  papal  domains  there  was 
almost  as  much  to  do.  Brigands  had  flourished 
there,  there  were  very  few  schools,  if  the  condition 
of  the  streets  of  Rome  was  so  terrible,  if  people 
were  obliged  to  carry  lanterns  when  they  went  out 
at  night,  and  went  out  risking  attacks  in  the  very 
city  itself,  what  could  one  expect  of  the  condition 
of  the  country? 

Through  the  courtesy  of  an  Italian  advocate  we 
were  able  to  see  the  young  King  and  Queen  under 

[  194  ] 


Ceiling  Decoration  by  Maccari  in  Senate  Chamber  at  Rome 


jfttobern  &ome 


very  favourable  circumstances.  They  were  present 
at  the  opening  of  an  agricultural  congress  held  in 
the  Capitol  one  April  morning.  Admission  was  by 
card  only,  and  those  invited  to  occupy  the  reserved 
seats,  as  we  were,  entered  by  the  door  of  the  Capi- 
toline  Museum,  passing  up  the  great  staircase, 
covered  with  red  carpet,  and  decorated  with  palms 
for  the  occasion,  between  lines  of  guards  and 
flunkies,  in  the  royal  scarlet  livery,  then  through  a 
long  corridor  into  a  large  apartment,  where  some 
interesting  flags  and  banners  decorated  the  walls; 
from  this  we  passed  into  the  Council  Chamber,  in 
the  Palace  of  the  Senate,  where  the  congress 
assembled. 

We  were  early,  and  saw  the  different  ambassa¬ 
dors  and  secretaries  of  the  legations  arrive  with 
their  wives  and  daughters.  An  interesting  figure 
was  the  wife  of  the  Chinese  Minister,  the  only 
woman  in  the  party  of  five  or  six  Chinese,  all  of 
course  wearing  their  national  costume.  She 
attracted  much  attention. 

Finally  the  military  band  outside  in  the  piazza 
played  the  Marcia  Reale ,  always  the  announcement 
of  the  approach  of  the  Italian  royal  family  or  their 
delegates,  and  the  young  couple  entered  and  took 
their  raised  chairs  at  the  head  of  the  room.  Every 
one  else  stood  until  they  were  seated,  and  many  in 
the  very  back  of  the  room,  wishing  to  get  a  good 
view  of  the  royal  pair,  climbed  up  on  chairs  and 
stood  there  during  the  greater  part  of  the  pro- 

[195] 


Ancient  anb 

ceedings,  greatly  to  the  disgust  of  those  standing 
behind  them. 

The  Queen  is  a  brunette,  with  an  attractive  face, 
simpatica ,  the  Italians  call  her,  and  charming, 
gracious  manner.  She  is  of  barely  more  than 
medium  height,  but  four  or  five  inches  taller  than 
her  husband.  When  seated,  the  King  does  not 
appear  so  short,  and  it  is  the  same  on  horseback. 
He  has  a  fine  face,  is  much  handsomer  than  his 
photographs,  very  intelligent,  firm  and  determined 
looking,  with  light  brown  hair  and  moustache,  and 
keen  blue  eyes.  On  ordinary  occasions,  when  the 
royal  couple  or  Queen  Margheri'ca  drives  out,  the 
carriage  is  escorted  merely  by  four  or  five  guards, 
mounted  on  bicycles,  but  on  this  occasion  there 
were,  of  course,  the  royal  guards,  a  lady  and  gentle¬ 
man  in  waiting,  and  several  carriages  for  the  royal 
party.  Since  the  assassination  of  King  Humbert 
the  present  Queen,  who  is  timid,  has  been  especially 
so  about  appearances  in  public,  and  once  when  a 
crowd  had  collected  outside  the  main  entrance  of 
the  Quirinal  to  watch  her  drive  out  with  her  hus¬ 
band  to  attend  some  public  ceremony,  she  became 
so  alarmed  that  the  order  was  changed,  and  they 
left  the  palace  by  a  side  entrance,  to  the  disappoint¬ 
ment  of  the  people. 

It  is  quite  popular  to  go  to  this  main  entrance 
of  the  royal  palace  at  about  half-past  five  o’clock 
in  the  afternoon,  when  the  guards  are  changed. 
The  band  of  the  regiment  coming  on  duty  plays 

[  196  ] 


JHobern  &ome 


in  the  piazza  outside  the  palace,  then  marches  in. 
Presently  out  comes  the  band  and  those  soldiers 
going  off  duty,  it  plays  one  selection,  then  the  men 
all  march  away  to  the  neighbouring  barracks,  and 
the  crowd  slowly  disperses. 

The  Quirinal  is  a  very  ugly,  barracks-like  build¬ 
ing,  which  is  painted  a  dingy  yellow.  Situated  on 
a  hill,  it  can  be  seen  from  all  parts  of  the  city. 
Permission  to  visit  the  state  apartments  may  be 
obtained  upon  application  to  the  Minister  of  the 
Royal  Household. 

Not  far  away  is  the  church  of  the  Blue  Nuns, 
and  five  o’clock  vespers  are  usually  well  attended 
here.  The  church  is  very  gorgeous,  with  much  gilt 
in  the  decorations,  and  the  choir  is  shut  off  from 
the  nave  by  a  high  gilded  lattice.  The  nuns  come 
into  the  choir  and  take  their  places  behind  this 
lattice,  where  no  man  but  the  officiating  priests  and 
acolytes  may  enter.  The  nuns  are  most  pictur¬ 
esque  in  their  long  trailing  robes  of  turquoise  blue 
woollen  material,  falling  in  soft  folds,  and  over 
them  white  upper  robes  and  veils.  As  they  stand 
or  kneel  with  their  backs  to  the  congregation  their 
veils  are  slightly  raised  from  their  faces,  but  as 
they  turn  to  leave  the  choir,  they  draw  down  these 
veils,  which  are  thick  enough  to  cover  faces  and 
forms  entirely.  Not  a  trace  of  feature  or  outline 
can  be  discovered  beneath  the  voluminous  folds  and 
draperies,  save  sometimes  long  hair  may  indicate 
the  novice,  whose  head  has  not  yet  been  shorn.  The 

[  197  ]  ' 


ancient  anb  Jttobern  &ome 


singing  of  the  service  is  done  entirely  by  the  nuns, 
organ  they  have  none,  but  a  wretched  melodeon. 
For  the  most  part  their  voices  sounded  shrill  and 
childish  to  me,  but  the  sight  was  an  interesting  one, 
and  their  dress  quite  the  prettiest  imaginable. 


CHAPTER  X. 


HOLY  WEEK  in  Rome  offers  many  curious 
ceremonies,  but  our  attendance  upon  them 
was  sadly  interfered  with  by  the  general 
strike  ordered  on  Wednesday  of  that  week.  The 
cabmen  had  been  endeavouring  to  secure  an  in¬ 
creased  tariff.  Under  the  old  tariff  of  eighty 
centesimi  for  a  course  within  the  city  limits  for 
one  or  two  persons,  the  chief  grievance  lay  in  the 
fact  that  they  were  expected  to  drive  for  this  sum 
from  any  part  of  the  city  to  the  entrance  to  the  Vat¬ 
ican  library,  sculpture  galleries,  and  Etruscan  and 
Egyptian  museums;  all  of  these  are  entered  by  a 
doorway,  to  reach  which  one  must  drive  far  around 
behind  St.  Peter’s,  and  up  a  long  alley,  on  one 
side  of  which  are  the  Vatican  gardens,  the  alley 
terminating  at  this  entrance.  As  it  is  therefore 
not  a  public  street,  and  no  thoroughfare,  there  is 
nothing  for  the  cabman  to  do,  unless  engaged  by 
the  hour,  but  to  wait  a  long  time,  probably  the 
better  part  of  the  morning,  on  the  chance  of  a 
return  fare,  or  take  the  long  road  hack  again  with¬ 
out  one,  at  a  considerable  loss  of  time.  The  cabmen 
argued  that  as  the  Vatican  property  is  not,  strictly 
speaking,  a  part  of  the  city  of  Rome,  it  is  therefore 

[199] 


£>omt  Ceremonies! 


outside  of  the  city  limits,  and  petitioned  to  be 
allowed  to  charge  one  lira.  They  had  held  several 
mass  meetings,  had  presented  petitions  to  various 
city  officials,  and  were  finally  granted  the  increased 
tariff,  and  more  than  they  asked  for,  since  the 
course  rate  is  now  one  lira ,  with  twenty  centesimi 
extra  for  driving  to  these  Vatican  galleries  men¬ 
tioned.  This  rate  had  been  accorded  on  Tuesday 
of  Holy  Week. 

A  strike  of  the  typographers  had  been  going  on 
for  months,  neither  side  being  willing  to  yield  an 
inch.  The  employers  indeed  asserted  that  they  had 
repeatedly  yielded  to  the  typographers’  demands, 
and  now  they  would  be  ruined  if  they  paid  any 
higher  wages.  The  majority  of  the  working  peo¬ 
ple  did  not  seem  in  sympathy  with  these  strikers, 
for  they  said  that  they  were  the  best  paid  of  any 
workmen,  and  received  high  wages.  However,  the 
various  labor  unions  were  persuaded  that  a  general 
strike  would  result  in  a  settlement  with  the  typogra¬ 
phers.  Rome  was  full  of  strangers,  they  argued, 
all  come  especially  for  the  Holy  Week  ceremonies, 
and  who  would  be  greatly  inconvenienced  by  such 
a  strike.  They  would  influence  the  proprietors  of 
hotels  and  pensions,  who  would  in  turn  influence 
public  opinion  against  the  employers,  who  were  so 
unwilling  to  yield,  etc.  The  cabmen  having  just 
received  an  increased  tariff  were  perfectly  willing 
to  consent  to  what  meant  a  few  days’  idleness  and 
holiday,  easily  made  up  for  by  a  few  days  of  work 

[  200  ] 


of  i) crip  mnk 


under  the  new  tariff,  other  organizations  were  per¬ 
suaded,  and  the  strike  was  ordered. 

Wednesday  morning  not  a  cab  was  to  be  seen. 
The  little  omnibuses  did  not  appear,  and  we  were 
warned  that  we  were  probably  eating  our  last  fresh 
rolls  for  some  time  to  come.  But  one  circumstance 
sadly  upset  the  arrangements  of  the  leaders  of  the 
strike.  Almost  to  a  man,  the  conductors  and  motor- 
men  of  the  electric  trams,  all  run  by  one  company, 
reported  for  work,  and  the  trams  ran  all  day, 
though  at  rather  long  intervals.  The  majority  of 
strangers  in  the  city  probably  realized  the  state  of 
affairs  only  after  starting  out  for  their  morning 
trips,  and  I  was  one  of  these.  After  first  waiting 
for  the  omnibus  that  usually  passed  our  door,  some 
one  in  a  shop  finally  told  me  that  the  drivers  of  that 
line  had  struck.  But  not  having  read  the  morning 
papers,  and  but  just  returned  to  the  city,  I  did  not 
appreciate  the  situation,  and  not  seeing  a  cab, 
turned  towards  the  nearest  trolley  line.  After  long 
waiting,  I  boarded  a  crowded  car  on  my  way  to  the 
famous  Rag  Fair,  for  this  was  my  last  Wednesday 
in  Rome,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  miss  it. 

It  is  at  this  Rag  Fair  that  are  found  in  large 
quantities  the  seven-branched  candlesticks  beloved 
by  tourists,  Roman  lamps,  old  church  vestments, 
and  antiquities,  whether  real  or  manufactured. 
They  do  say  that  proprietors  of  the  many  little 
shops  near  the  Tiber  send  their  wares  to  the  Rag 
Fair  at  quadrupled  prices,  that  they  may  catch  the 

[201  ] 


is>ome  Ceremonies! 


unwary  foreigner  expecting  to  find  bargains  at 
these  little  open  booths.  They  are  set  up  in  the 
Campo  di  Fiore,  where  the  flower  market  is  held, 
hence  its  name.  Much  haggling  over  purchases  is 
expected  and  customary. 

The  tram  proceeded  uneventfully  enough  until 
we  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  Piazza  Colonna, 
where  we  saw  crowds  of  people  being  driven  back 
by  cavalry  from  the  square,  while  shutters  were 
being  hastily  put  up  in  front  of  shop  windows. 
The  tram  was  occupied  almost  entirely  by  for¬ 
eigners,  and  there  were  excited  exclamations  in 
French,  German  and  English.  A  few  passengers 
alighted  then  and  there,  but  most  kept  their  places. 
A  little  further  down  town  there  was  another  crowd 
of  men  and  boys,  and  troops  trying  to  drive  them 
back.  Suddenly  I  saw  a  boy  raise  his  arm  with  a 
stone,  but  he  was  held  by  the  men  near  him.  A 
moment  later  a  stone  flew,  and  shattered  the  win¬ 
dow  behind  me  and,  as  if  frightened  by  the  act,  the 
crowd  scattered  down  a  side  street.  A  lady  sitting 
near  me  was  slightly  cut  by  the  flying  glass,  but 
fortunately  no  one  was  seriously  hurt.  Everyone 
left  the  tram,  but  by  this  time  we  were  close  to  the 
Rag  Fair.  Here  the  keepers  of  the  booths  had 
evidently  taken  alarm,  and  were  making  hurried 
preparations  to  depart,  packing  up  their  wares. 
Their  spirits  were  quite  subdued,  and  they  lowered 
their  prices  almost  without  a  murmur. 

The  situation  was  now  rather  serious.  It  was  a 
[  202  ] 


of  KEeefe 


long  distance  back  to  the  pension,  nor  did  I  fancy 
the  walk  back  through  these  crowds,  to  say  nothing 
of  having  to  carry  the  heavy  candlesticks  and  lamp 
that  I  had  secured.  I  appealed  to  a  carabiniere. 
He  politely  assured  me  that  I  would  be  perfectly 
safe  either  afoot  or  in  a  car.  My  confidence  was 
not  implicit,  although  I  had  not  yet  learned  that 
Italians  always  tell  one  what  they  think  he  or  she 
wishes  to  hear,  but  trams  seemed  as  safe  as  streets, 
so  after  waiting  for  some  time  one  came  along, 
and  I  got  in.  There  were  a  few  foreigners  among 
the  passengers,  the  rest  Italians.  The  latter  seemed 
to  treat  the  whole  affair  as  a  joke.  When  we 
reached  the  scene  of  the  former  stone-throwing, 
crash,  came  another!  and  this  time  no  one  was  hurt. 
Now  I  expected  a  panic.  Do  we  not  always  con¬ 
sider  Italians  as  wildly  excitable?  Two  peasant 
women  crouched  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  car  to 
be  out  of  the  way  of  flying  glass,  but  without 
shrieks  or  spasms  of  any  kind.  None  of  the  women 
lost  their  presence  of  mind,  the  Italian  men 
shrugged  their  shoulders  and  still  seemed  amused, 
and  the  only  panic  was  shown  by  the  largest  man 
of  all,  a  burly  German,  who  proceeded  to  plough 
his  way  down  the  aisle,  yelling  madly  to  be  let  out. 
After  this  the  tram  rolled  on  unmolested,  and  we 
reached  the  terminus  without  further  demonstra¬ 
tions.  However,  trams  seemed  undesirable  for  the 
present. 

Meanwhile  troops  were  being  rushed  to  Rome 
[  203  ] 


^»ome  Ceremonies; 


from  all  parts  of  the  country  without  delay,  and 
these  were  encamped  in  the  squares  in  the  heart  of 
the  city,  where  demonstrations  were  most  liable  to 
occur.  A  cordon  was  drawn  around  some  of  these 
squares  to  prevent  crowds  gathering,  and  the 
wooden  shutters  were  pulled  down  over  the  win¬ 
dows  of  the  cars  which  continued  running.  Procla¬ 
mations  on  coloured  posters  appeared  everywhere, 
announcing  that  the  Bakers’  Association  would  do 
everything  in  its  power  to  cope  with  the  situation, 
and,  although  for  two  days  we  had  had  no  nice 
fresh  rolls,  there  was  bread  in  plenty.  It  was  sent 
in  large  quantities  from  places  even  as  far  away 
as  Florence,  and  it  was  said  that  many  Roman 
workmen  were  so  little  in  sympathy  with  the  strike 
that  they  worked  behind  closed  doors.  Almost  all 
the  shops  were  open,  though  with  iron  shutters 
over  the  windows,  and  only  a  small  opening  in  the 
doorway,  so  that  it  could  be  closed  at  a  moment’s 
notice.  Still,  many  hundreds  of  tourists  left  the 
city,  for  the  hotel  omnibuses  being  private  concerns, 
ran  as  usual,  and  it  was  not  hard  to  find  men  to 
carry  luggage  or  wheel  it  in  barrows  to  the  station, 
and  strangers  feared  a  protracted  period  of  disturb¬ 
ance.  The  owners  of  private  carriages  for  the  most 
part  kept  them  at  home,  for  they  were  not  anxious 
to  run  the  risk  of  having  them  mistaken  by  the 
crowd  for  cabs. 

Wednesday  and  Thursday  but  one  newspaper 
appeared,  and  exactly  how  that  one  was  printed 

[  204  ] 


of  iiolp  Wink 


was  a  mystery.  All  day  Thursday  troops  kept 
arriving,  deputies  arose  in  Parliament,  and  de¬ 
manded  to  know  why  the  cabinet  did  not  effect  a 
settlement.  But  by  Thursday  afternoon  the  cab¬ 
men  began  to  realize  how  much  they  were  losing, 
and  that  an  increased  tariff  would  benefit  them 
little  if  tourists  continued  leaving  the  city  in  such 
numbers.  These  tourists  might  not  return,  and  the 
entire  spring  delegation  be  kept  away.  The  con¬ 
ductors  and  motormen  persisted  in  refusing  to  join 
the  strikers,  many  other  trade  organizations  grum¬ 
bled,  and  the  result  was  that  during  Thursday 
night  proclamations  appeared  on  every  available 
wall,  and  somewhat  to  this  eff ect : 

“Fellow  Workmen!  The  general  strike  of  the  past  two  days 
having  proved  a  grand  demonstration  of  the  solidity  of  organized 
labour,  you  are  hereby  advised  to  return  to  work  in  your  various 
branches,  with  the  exception  of  the  typographers,  pending  the  im¬ 
minent  settlement  of  their  dispute.” 


Friday  morning  all  was  serene.  Cabmen  beck¬ 
oned  and  cracked  their  whips  as  briskly  as  of  yore, 
perhaps  even  more  persuasively,  and  by  Saturday, 
except  that  one  saw  more  soldiers  and  carabinieri 
than  usual,  no  one  would  have  known  that  the  won¬ 
derful  strike  which  was  so  to  terrorize  Rome  had 
ever  occurred. 

But  unfortunately  Thursday  is  one  of  the  great 
days  of  Holy  Week.  At  several  churches  the  cere¬ 
mony  of  the  Feet  Washing  occurs.  One  of  these, 

[  205  ] 


&ome  Ceremonies 


the  English  Catholic  Church  of  San  Silvestro,  was 
within  walking  distance,  so  we  were  able  to  witness 
this  curious  ceremony  in  the  morning.  In  the 
centre  of  the  church  a  space  was  railed  off.  On 
one  side,  against  a  chapel  wall  was  a  raised  plat¬ 
form  with  two  carpeted  steps.  On  this  was  a  long 
bench.  In  the  centre  of  this  space  stood  a  table 
and  chair.  Mass  was  being  said  at  the  high  altar 
when  we  arrived,  and  the  church  was  crowded. 
Finally  two  priests  in  purple  cassocks  and  lace- 
trimmed  cottas  appeared,  carrying  a  silver  basin 
and  large  silver  pitcher,  which  they  placed  on  the 
table.  After  several  trips  back  and  forth  the 
English  archbishop  appeared,  a  most  gorgeous  fig¬ 
ure  in  trailing  yellow  satin  robe,  high  yellow  satin 
mitre,  with  queer  little  ends,  like  old  ladies’  cap 
ribbons  hanging  down  over  his  neck.  He  seated 
himself  in  the  chair,  with  the  two  priests  in  waiting 
before  him,  and  thirteen  seminary  students,  in  black 
and  purple  gowns,  and  wearing  their  round  black 
beaver  hats,  filed  in,  and  seated  themselves  upon  the 
raised  bench.  We  could  never  get  a  satisfactory 
explanation  as  to  why  there  were  thirteen,  for  we 
were  told  that  they  were  supposed  to  typify  the 
twelve  apostles. 

With  many  bows  and  repeated  kissings  of  his 
hand,  the  two  priests  removed  the  archbishop’s 
mitre,  then  his  satin  robe,  beneath  which  he  wore  a 
very  fine,  lace-trimmed  lawn  gown.  They  then 
tied  a  satin  apron  of  a  crushed  strawberry  colour 

[  206  ] 


of  Ifyolp  Wink 


around  his  waist,  and  carrying  the  pitcher,  basin, 
and  a  towel,  they  escorted  him  to  the  line  of  stu¬ 
dents.  Here  they  hovered  close  to  him,  apparently 
trying  to  shield  his  actions  from  the  staring  crowd, 
but  this  much  we  saw.  The  slipper  was  removed 
from  the  sockless  right  foot  of  each  student,  a  small 
quantity  of  water  poured  over  the  foot  into  the 
basin,  and  a  pretence  of  drying  the  foot  was  made. 
After  this  the  priests  escorted  the  archbishop  back 
to  his  chair,  with  more  low  bows  presented  him 
with  water  in  the  silver  basin — we  tried  in  vain  to 
see  what  they  did  with  the  water  poured  into  it 
before,  for  it  was  quite  empty  when  they  filled  it 
to  offer  to  the  archbishop — he  washed  his  delicate 
hands,  the  priests  dried  them,  kissed  them,  removed 
the  apron,  put  back  on  him  the  robe  and  mitre,  and 
the  ceremony  being  at  an  end,  archbishop,  priests 
and  students  filed  out. 

From  Thursday  noon  to  Easter  even,  when  the 
veiled  pictures  and  statues  are  uncovered,  no  church 
bells  ring  or  church  organs  are  played,  but  to  dispel 
any  too  deep  gloom  caused  by  such  restrictions, 
many  of  the  churches  have  elaborate  musical  ser¬ 
vices,  with  accompaniment  of  full  orchestra  on  both 
Thursday  and  Friday  of  Holy  Week.  On  Thurs¬ 
day  afternoon  occurs  the  service  of  the  Sepulchres. 
All  good  Catholics  in  Rome  are  required  to  visit 
the  sepulchres  of  at  least  seven  churches.  These 
sepulchres  for  the  most  part  are  merely  masses  of 
flowers,  and  there  is  much  vying  as  to  splendour. 

[  207] 


&ome  Ceremonies 


The  papers  announced  that  the  American  Roman 
Catholic  Church  would  have  a  display  in  accord¬ 
ance  with  American  wealth  and  lavishness,  but  it 
was  impossible  for  us  to  visit  many  of  the  large 
churches,  because  of  the  necessity  for  walking  in 
every  case,  and  for  the  same  reason  we  were  obliged 
to  miss  the  ceremony  of  washing  the  altars  in  St. 
Peter’s  that  afternoon.  One  church,  Santa  Maria 
Egiziaca,  once  a  Roman  temple,  announced  that 
it  would  have  an  exact  reproduction  of  the  Sepul¬ 
chre  at  Jerusalem,  but  the  church  was  closed  so 
early  in  the  day  that  we  were  unable  to  visit  it.  In 
one  chapel  of  the  English  church  there  was  attempt 
at  realism  in  a  sepulchre  with  almost  life-size  figures 
of  Christ  and  the  Virgin,  and  it  was  ghastly  in  the 
extreme. 

On  Good  Friday  afternoon  there  was  a  three 
hours’  service  at  this  same  English  Catholic  church. 
This  service  was  conducted  quite  as  are  the  same 
services  in  Episcopal  churches  in  this  country,  with 
one  startling  difference.  Instead  of  a  few  hymns 
between  the  addresses,  Pergolesi’s  “  Stabat  Mater  ” 
was  beautifully  sung  by  a  large  choir  of  men  and 
boys,  accompanied  by  a  fine  orchestra.  Had  it 
been  possible  to  go  to  the  other  side  of  the  city  at 
almost  the  same  hour,  we  could  have  seen  a  “  piece 
of  the  True  Cross,”  borne  in  solemn  procession 
around  the  church  of  Santa  Croce  (the  name  means 
Holy  Cross),  or  at  San  Giovanni  Laterano,  the 
table  upon  which  the  Last  Supper  was  eaten  (?) ; 

[  208  ] 


of  ©olp  OTecfe 


and  in  all  the  churches  possessing  relics  they  are  dis¬ 
played  on  Good  F riday.  W e  had  decided  to  go  to 
St.  Peter’s.  At  five  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  an 
elaborate,  unaccompanied  Miserere  was  sung  by  the 
Sistine  choir,  but  it  was  very  long,  and  the  voices 
tired,  so  that  the  choir  did  not  sing  as  well  as  usual. 
After  standing  in  the  crowd  at  the  choir  end  of  the 
church  and  listening  as  long  as  we  could — seats 
there  are  none,  unless  one  hire  a  little  camp  stool 
at  the  door — we  went  further  back  into  the  church, 
where  the  crowd  was  thinner,  and  here  we  witnessed 
another  curious  ceremony. 

In  the  left  transept,  on  a  kind  of  throne,  sat  a 
cardinal  whom  we  afterwards  learned  was  Cardinal 
Rampolla,  with  a  red  cap  on  his  head,  and  holding 
a  long  golden  rod  in  his  hand.  A  space  in  front 
was  kept  clear  by  attendants,  and  one  by  one  such 
of  the  assembly  as  wished,  crossed  the  space,  knelt 
before  him — he  touching  them  on  the  shoulder  with 
the  rod — then  rose  and  passed  on.  This  action 
insured  them  one  day’s  indulgence.  When  all 
who  wished  had  knelt,  the  cardinal  and  his  atten¬ 
dants  disappeared  into  the  sacristy. 

By  this  time  it  was  rapidly  growing  dusk.  The 
music  ceased,  and  there  were  no  lights  but  those  on 
the  high  altar,  and  one  in  the  choir.  A  general  air 
of  expectancy  pervaded  the  vast  church.  Each 
of  the  four  great  pillars  where  the  transepts  join 
the  nave,  under  the  great  dome,  has  a  tiny  balcony, 
high  up,  and  reached  by  staircases  within  the 

[  209  ] 


H>ome  Ceremonies! 


pillars.  Up  in  one  of  these  balconies  a  light  now 
appeared,  a  taper  borne  by  a  priest.  Seven  tall 
candles  were  fixed  to  the  balcony  railing,  and  these 
be  now  lighted  and  then  withdrew.  Somewhere 
from  within  the  pillar  a  snare  drum  rattled,  and 
all  devout  Catholics  dropped  to  their  knees.  A 
priest  in  vestments,  and  attended  by  an  acolyte 
appeared  in  the  balcony,  advanced  to  the  railing, 
and  exhibited  a  gorgeous  cross,  about  a  foot  high, 
made  of  gold  and  jewels.  This  was  the  setting  for 
the  small  piece  of  the  True  Cross  contained  in 
the  centre.  Three  times  he  showed  this  to  the  crowd 
many  feet  below,  then  withdrew.  Again  he  ap¬ 
peared,  this  time  with  a  long  gleaming  sword,  with 
jewelled  hilt,  all  very  highly  polished.  Three  times 
he  displayed  this  beautiful  piece  of  workmanship, 
the  “  Sword  that  pierced  Christ’s  side.”  Again  he 
withdrew,  and  there  was  a  dramatic  pause.  Once 
more  the  drum  rattled,  and  a  third  time  he  appeared 
in  the  balcony,  this  time  with  a  large  gold  and 
jewelled  casket  nearly  two  feet  high.  In  front  was 
set  a  piece  of  glass,  and  behind  this  the  faithful  are 
supposed  to  see  the  handkerchief  with  which  St. 
Veronica  wiped  Christ’s  face,  and  the  photographic 
imprint  of  his  countenance  upon  it.  The  balcony 
being  very  high,  not  too  vivid  an  imagination  might 
subscribe  to  this.  After  this  the  last  relic  had  been 
exhibited,  priest  and  acolyte  vanished  for  the  last 
time,  the  people  rose  from  their  knees,  and  sud¬ 
denly  electric  lights  encircling  pillars  and  running 

[210] 


The  Campo  dei  Fiori 


of  l>olj>  Wietk 


high  up  along  the  walls  were  fully  turned  on,  and 
St.  Peter’s  was  a  blaze  of  light,  far  more  impres¬ 
sive  thus  to  my  mind  than  with  the  bright  light  of 
day  streaming  through  the  white  glass  windows. 

A  service  at  St.  Peter’s  on  Easter  morning  is 
an  imposing  sight.  On  this  Easter  the  vast  church 
was  almost  full,  and  up  near  the  altar  and  choir 
it  was  crowded.  An  elaborate  mass  was  finely  sung 
by  the  choir  of  the  Capella  Giulia,  not  the  equal  of 
the  Sistine  choir,  however.  But  it  seemed  strange 
not  to  see  a  single  leaf  or  flower,  absolutely  no 
decorations.  Colour  was  supplied  by  the  purple 
robes  of  the  canons,  the  major  canons  wearing 
ermine  shoulder  capes,  the  minor  canons  capes  of 
grey  squirrel,  the  red  robes  of  acolytes,  and  a  car¬ 
dinal  who  officiated  in  full  splendour,  and  after¬ 
wards  walked  all  around  the  nave  in  a  procession 
of  priests,  acolytes,  and  choir  boys,  bearing  long 
tapers.  Many  soldiers,  too,  quiet  having  been 
restored  after  the  strike,  availed  themselves  of  their 
presence  in  Rome  to  attend,  all  in  their  gala  uni¬ 
forms.  It  was  a  warm,  bright  spring  day,  and 
afterwards  the  great  piazza  was  another  pictur¬ 
esque  sight.  Tourists,  as  well  as  Romans,  were  out 
in  such  numbers  that  cabs  and  trams  were  quite 
insufficient  to  furnish  transportation  for  all,  but  the 
day  was  so  lovely  that  walking  was  a  pleasure. 


[211] 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THERE  are  many  old  palaces  in  Rome  to 
which  visitors  are  admitted  on  certain  days, 
usually  without  entrance  fee,  but  a  tip  is 
expected  by  the  servant  at  the  door.  To  the  main 
part  of  the  Palazzo  Barberini,  now  occupied  by  the 
Spanish  Ambassador,  visitors  are  admitted  in  his 
absence  only,  but  the  picture  gallery,  a  small  one, 
may  be  seen  almost  any  day,  upon  payment  of  one 
lira.  The  Casino,  in  the  garden  of  the  Palazzo 
Rospigliosi  is  always  crowded  on  the  two  days 
upon  which  it  may  be  visited  by  those  wishing  to 
see  Guido  Reni’s  famous  ceiling  fresco,  “  Aurora,” 
as  well  as  the  few  good  pictures  contained  in  the 
rooms. 

The  Colonna  palace  has  been  so  transformed 
that  it  is  hard  to  form  an  idea  of  what  it  once  may 
have  been.  The  Via  Pilotta,  where  is  the  public 
entrance  to  the  picture  gallery,  a  narrow  little 
street,  separates  palace  and  gardens;  part  of  the 
latter  now  furnish  the  site  for  a  theatre,  and  on  the 
other  two  streets  upon  which  the  palace  faces  are 
little  shops.  But  from  the  picture  galleries  one 
catches  glimpses  of  large  square  courtyards,  upon 
one  of  which  open  the  rooms  of  the  palace  now  in 
use  by  its  occupants,  the  others  are  neglected,  the 

[212] 


<£Hb  ipalaces;  anb  Cfjurcfjctf 

windows  opening  on  them  closely  shuttered.  The 
building  is  very  large.  After  passing  through 
several  small  rooms,  one  enters  the  enormous  gal¬ 
lery,  with  elaborately  frescoed  ceiling,  the  walls 
lined  with  mirrors,  and  very  ornate.  The  effect 
when  this  room  was  used  for  festive  occasions,  and 
brilliantly  lighted,  must  have  been  very  gorgeous. 
Beyond  this  gallery  is  a  suite  of  four  or  five  rooms 
hung  with  pictures,  not  many  of  them  remarkable. 
One  of  the  rooms  is  hung  in  tattered  red  velvet,  and 
contains  a  portrait  of  the  cardinal  of  the  family, 
while  beneath  a  high  canopy  stands  the  chair  occu¬ 
pied  by  the  pope,  when,  in  the  old  days,  he  came  to 
pay  him  a  visit,  for  the  Colonna  family  has  been 
since  mediaeval  times  faithful  adherents  to  the 
pope  and  his  party,  although  one  of  them  served 
for  years  as  sindaco  or  mayor  of  Rome,  under  the 
monarchy. 

The  gallery  of  the  Doria  palace  is  also  open  to 
the  public  on  two  days  in  the  week.  That  part  of 
the  building  consisting  of  two  rooms  and  galleries 
extending  around  the  four  sides  of  a  courtyard, 
and  a  suite  of  rooms  on  one  side  of  a  second  court, 
all  hung  with  fine  paintings  may  be  seen,  as  well  as 
a  large  salon,  with  pictures,  antiques,  and  repro¬ 
ductions.  The  collection  of  paintings  is  exception¬ 
ally  fine,  and  in  a  small  room  opening  off  the  suite 
mentioned  is  the  gem  of  the  collection,  quite  alone 
in  its  glory,  the  magnificent  portrait  by  Velasquez 
of  Pope  Innocent  X. 

[213] 


<^U>  $alace$ 


Across  the  Tiber,  almost  opposite  the  Farnese 
palace,  is  the  Villa  Farnese,  still  known  by  this 
name,  although  it  has  not  belonged  to  the  family 
for  almost  two  hundred  years.  It  contains  cele¬ 
brated  frescoes,  but  only  two  long  rooms  are  now 
open  to  the  public.  One  of  these  contains  the  fres¬ 
coes  representing  the  history  of  Psyche,  by  Giulio 
Romano,  from  designs  by  Raphael,  the  other  a 
fresco,  Galatea,  entirely  the  work  of  Raphael,  a 
charcoal  head  attributed  to  Michelangelo,  and  other 
frescoes  by  Raphael’s  pupils. 

Only  a  short  distance  away  from  the  villa,  on  the 
same  street,  is  the  Corsini  palace,  now  a  national 
museum.  The  palace  with  its  fine  collections — even 
to  a  portrait  group  in  mosaics,  a  wonderful  piece 
of  work,  representing  the  pope  and  two  cardinals 
of  the  family,  something  which  one  would  think 
the  present  members  of  the  family  might  have 
chosen  to  keep  in  their  possession — was  sold,  to¬ 
gether  with  the  formerly  immense  gardens,  to  the 
Italian  government,  with  the  proviso  that  the  col¬ 
lections  should  always  be  kept  in  the  palace  as  a 
museum.  The  sum  received  was  the  very  small  one 
of  500,000  francs!  The  natural  desire  of  the 
Italian  government  that  Italy’s  great  art  treasures 
should  not  be  permitted  to  leave  the  country, 
involves  a  considerable  outlay  on  the  part  of  the 
government,  even  though  the  price  paid  be  small, 
whenever  a  nobleman  wishes  to  sell  his  art  collec¬ 
tions.  Part  of  the  gardens  of  this  palace  have 

[  ] 


anb  Cfjurcfjes 


been  sold  in  building  lots,  and  built  up,  new 
streets  have  been  opened  through  them;  another 
portion  up  on  the  hill  has  been  laid  out  in  the  beau¬ 
tiful  Passe giata  Margherita,  a  park  drive,  and 
here  at  such  a  high  elevation  that  it  can  be  seen 
for  a  great  distance,  stands  a  fine  monument  to 
Garibaldi. 

This  driveway  is  one  of  the  routes  to  the  Janicu- 
lum,  the  hill  where  everyone  goes  to  get  the  wonder¬ 
ful  view  of  Rome.  At  the  end  of  the  drive  one 
comes  out  through  an  iron  gateway,  passes  the 
great  fountain,  “  Acqua  Paola  ”  which  is  fed  by 
the  waters  of  an  old  Roman  aqueduct,  restored  by 
Pope  Paul  V.  in  the  seventeenth  century,  hence 
its  name.  There  is  such  a  strong  flow  of  water 
here  that  there  is  always  a  breeze  near  by.  Then 
one  comes  to  the  Via  Garibaldi,  which  has  wound 
up  from  the  hill  below,  and  now  ends  in  front  of 
the  church  of  San  Pietro  in  Montorio.  This  church, 
as  well  as  the  great  St.  Peter’s,  both  claim  to  mark 
the  spot  where  St.  Peter  was  martyred.  In  front 
of  this  church  is  an  open  place,  ending  in  a  parapet 
at  the  brink  of  the  hill,  which  here  descends  quite 
precipitously.  All  Rome  is  here  spread  out  like 
a  panorama  at  one’s  feet,  and  it  is  almost  directly 
opposite  the  Pincio,  so  one  gets  quite  a  different 
view.  The  seven  hills  curve  in  the  background, 
the  capitol,  the  vast  arches,  the  ruins  of  Constan¬ 
tine’s  Basilica,  the  ruins  of  the  Palatine  Hill,  and 
the  great  yellow  Quirinal  are  all  plainly  visible. 

[215] 


palaces! 

Among  the  towers  and  domes  rises  the  Tower  of 
Nero,  from  which  he  is  supposed  to  have  watched 
the  burning  of  Rome.  If  the  day  is  clear,  there  is 
an  extensive  view  of  the  country  round  about  Rome, 
the  distant  mountains.  Tourists  are  always  to  be 
found  here  in  large  numbers,  while  their  cabmen 
lounge  lazily  on  their  high  box  seats,  chatting  to¬ 
gether,  and  commenting  in  mild  amusement  upon 
the  foreigners.  Usually  there  will  be  some  member 
of  the  various  groups  pointing  out  the  different 
hills,  the  buildings,  and  other  points  of  interest, 
but  no  one  need  be  dependent  upon  such  a  chance. 
Several  men  and  boys  are  always  there,  with  maps 
and  guide-books  to  sell  and  a  large  framed  pano¬ 
rama  stands  close  at  hand,  with  a  telescope  and  man 
in  charge  ready  to  let  one  see  what  he  will  for  a 
small  fee. 

Beneath  the  altar  of  the  church  here  Beatrice 
Cenci  is  buried,  quite  without  noticeable  monu¬ 
ment,  but  the  sacristan  will  point  out  the  spot 
if  requested. 

The  road  at  right  angles  to  the  Passegiata  Mar- 
gherita  close  by  Acqua  Paola  leads  to  the  entrance 
of  the  beautiful  gardens  and  park  of  the  Villa 
Pamphili,  one  of  the  most  charming  places  near 
Rome,  open  to  pedestrians,  private  carriages,  or 
two-horse  cabs,  but  not  to  the  ordinary  street  cabs, 
on  two  afternoons  in  the  week,  save  during  the 
summer  months,  when  the  family  is  staying  there. 
An  afternoon  may  be  delightfully  spent  here,  walk- 

[  216  ] 


anb  Cfjurcf) e£ 


ing  along  level,  shady  roads  through  the  beautiful 
grounds,  and  around  the  pretty  lake. 

Another  delightful  place  is  the  park  of  the  Villa 
Borghese,  while  the  superb  collection  of  paintings 
and  statuary  in  the  Casino,  as  the  former  Borghese 
residence  in  the  midst  of  this  park  is  called,  require 
days  to  be  studied.  Gradually  one  comes  to  realize 
the  former  great  possessions  of  this  family.  In 
addition  to  the  lovely  villa  and  park,  just  outside 
the  gates  of  Rome,  there  were  the  palace  in  the 
city,  on  the  street  named  after  the  Borghese  family, 
the  gorgeous  family  chapel  in  Santa  Maria  Mag- 
giore,  another  place  out  in  the  country  not  far 
from  Rome,  and  many  reminders  of  them  are  to  be 
found  in  the  Castello  Sant’ Angelo. 

The  Borghese  chapel  in  Santa  Maria  Maggiore, 
the  largest  of  the  churches  dedicated  to  the  Virgin 
in  Rome,  is  surmounted,  as  is  the  Sistine  Chapel 
opposite  by  a  lofty  dome,  and  from  the  top  of  this 
dome,  on  the  fifth  of  every  August,  white  flowers 
are  thrown  down  upon  the  pavement  beneath  in  a 
shower.  This  is  in  commemoration  of  what  legends 
say  caused  this  church  to  he  built.  The  story  is  as 
follows:  Many  centuries  ago,  on  the  night  of  the 
fourth  of  August,  the  Virgin  appeared  to  both  a 
pope  and  a  patrician,  and  commanded  them  to  erect 
a  church  upon  the  spot  where  they  should  find  snow 
on  the  following  morning.  A  basilica  was,  they 
say,  erected  in  consequence  upon  the  present  site 
of  the  church  in  the  fourth  century,  although  this 

[217] 


palaces! 


legend  cannot  be  traced  to  so  remote  a  date.  The 
basilica  was  subsequently  replaced  by  other  struc¬ 
tures,  until  the  present  very  large  one,  with  rows 
of  antique  marble  columns  succeeded  them,  al¬ 
though  it  did  not  wear  its  present  form  until 
1611.  The  white  flowers  once  a  year  now  serve 
to  recall  the  snow  which  they  typify.  On  the  large 
ornate  altar  of  the  Borghese  chapel  is  a  wonder¬ 
working  image  of  the  Virgin,  almost  black,  very 
old,  and  attributed  to  St.  Luke,  who,  it  seems, 
was  a  sculptor.  Many  days  of  indulgence  are 
promised  to  those  who  devoutly  recite  an  Ave 
Maria  before  it. 

The  Castello  Sant’ Angelo,  crowned  by  its  statue 
of  St.  Michael,  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  build¬ 
ings  in  Rome.  A  secret  passage  formerly  connected 
it  with  the  Vatican,  for  it  was  the  fortress  to  which 
popes  repaired  in  times  of  danger.  This  passage 
has  been  walled  up  in  the  middle  since  the  castle 
passed  out  of  the  possession  of  the  Vatican.  A 
broad  passageway  ascends  like  a  corkscrew  within 
the  walls.  Formerly  this  was  decorated  with  many 
statues,  which  were  used  as  weapons  of  defence 
during  the  siege  of  the  Goths  in  537,  and  thrown 
down  upon  the  assailers.  Some  of  the  fragments 
have  been  preserved.  Here,  too,  they  point  out  an 
elevator  shaft!  An  elevator  was  actually  built  here 
in  1498  for  the  use  of  the  pope  of  that  time,  who 
was  lame.  It  must  have  been  a  curious  aff  air,  prob¬ 
ably  worked  by  hand,  but  only  the  shaft  now 

[  218  ] 


anb  Cfjurcfjesi 


remains.  Electric  lights  keep  this  passage  from 
utter  darkness — there  are  very  few  outer  openings 
in  the  wall — and  although  they  are  too  modern  to 
seem  in  keeping,  they  are  vastly  convenient,  and 
pleasanter  for  the  visitor  than  the  torches  once  used. 
Opening  off  of  this  passage  is  the  cell  of  Bruno 
Giordano.  A  window  high  up  in  the  wall,  looking 
out  only  upon  this  dark  passage,  was  the  only 
means  of  allowing  light  or  air  to  enter  it.  Above 
are  apartments  beautifully  frescoed  during  the 
reign  of  the  Borghese  pope.  The  family  arms,  the 
bees,  are  prominently  displayed.  There  are  exqui¬ 
sitely  carved  mantelpieces  in  these  rooms,  too,  and 
the  guide  will  point  out  on  the  same  floor  immense 
granaries  and  storerooms,  with  great  oil  vats,  once 
kept  ever  filled  in  case  of  a  siege.  Then  there  are 
the  cells  of  Beatrice  Cenci  and  her  step-mother, 
and  of  Benvenuto  Cellini,  who  accomplished  so 
much  in  defence  of  this  castle,  yet  was  afterwards 
imprisoned  here.  F rom  the  high  ramparts  the  view 
is  magnificent.  Four  old  batteries  at  the  four 
points  of  the  compass  are  still  known  by  their  old 
names,  those  of  the  four  evangelists,  and  a  cannon 
is  always  discharged  here  at  noon,  for  this  build¬ 
ing  is  now  occupied  as  a  barracks  by  Italian 
soldiers. 

It  would  be  impossible  even  to  enumerate  the 
many  fine  piazze  of  Rome,  the  great  Piazza  del 
Popolo,  with  its  obelisk,  the  Piazza  Navone,  where, 
at  Christmas  time,  toy  booths  are  set  up  in  large 

[  219  ] 


<0lii  ^Palaces 


numbers,  and  which  contains  three  large  fountains, 
one  by  Bernini,  with  at  its  four  corners  the  gods 
of  the  four  rivers,  the  Danube,  Ganges,  Nile  and 
Rio  de  la  Plata,  as  well  as  an  ancient  obelisk.  This 
piazza  marks  the  site  of  the  old  Circus  or  Stadium 
of  the  Emperor  Domitian. 

Among  the  many  beautiful  fountains  of  Rome, 
the  work  of  famous  sculptors,  there  is  one  that 
those  who  truly  love  Rome  should  never  fail  to  visit, 
the  Fontana  di  Trevi ,  with  three  colossal  statues 
built  against  the  southern  wall  of  the  Poli  palace. 
The  central  figure  of  Neptune  is  the  work  of  Ber¬ 
nini,  and  in  front  of  these  figures  is  a  very  large 
basin  into  which  the  water  is  thrown  by  numerous 
small  jets.  But  the  chief  reason  for  visiting  it  is 
because  of  an  old  saying  that  whoever  drinks  of 
the  waters  of  this  fountain,  and  throws  a  soldo  into 
the  basin — there  are  always  small  children  waiting 
near,  for  what  reason  may  easily  be  imagined — will 
surely  revisit  Rome. 

A  little  trip  outside  the  gate  of  San  Giovanni  in 
Laterano  on  a  Sunday  or  holiday  afternoon  after 
warm  weather  sets  in  will  give  an  idea  of  the  life 
and  manner  of  enjoying  themselves  of  the  Roman 
people.  Immediately  outside  the  gate  are  set  up 
booths  where  cooked  food  of  various  kinds  is  sold, 
and  crowds  surround  these  booths,  laughing  and 
chatting.  A  tram  starts  from  outside  the  gate,  and 
taking  this  after  a  few  minutes  one  begins  to  pass 
little  osterie,  taverns,  or  temporary  arbours  built 

[220  ] 


anil  Cfjurcfj ti 


close  to  the  road,  though  usually  raised  well  above 
it.  Here  numbers  of  people  are  eating  and  drink¬ 
ing,  the  women  in  their  gala  attire,  with  their  heavy 
gold  chains  and  other  jewelry.  If  one  is  disposed 
to  dine  at  any  of  these  little  places  he  will  find  the 
cooking  excellent  even  if  the  menu  is  not  varied. 
There  will  be  pasta  of  different  kinds,  sure  to  be 
good,  chicken  cooked  deliciously,  one  style,  a  kind 
of  ragout,  is  especially  good,  there  will  be  good 
bread,  cheese  and  fruit,  and  the  wines  of  the  coun¬ 
try  near  Rome  are  famed  for  their  excellence. 
There  are  usually  hand-organs  playing  briskly,  and 
everyone  seems  to  be  enjoying  himself  or  herself. 
Unless  one  comes  fairly  early  in  the  evening  it  will 
be  difficult  to  find  places  at  the  tables,  numerous  as 
these  little  establishments  are,  illustrating  how  the 
Roman  of  the  populace  loves  to  dine  outside  of  his 
own  home. 

Of  the  many  pretty  and  interesting  places  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Rome,  Tivoli  is  the  most  popu¬ 
lar  with  tourists,  with  its  famous  cascades,  the  tem¬ 
ple  of  the  Sybil,  the  Villa  d’Este,  with  many 
souvenirs  of  Liszt,  etc.  Between  Tivoli  and  Rome, 
and  usually  included  in  the  trip  is  the  Villa  Ha¬ 
drian,  splendid  ruins.  Trips  to  the  various  castclli 
around  Rome,  to  the  Castello  Gandolfo,  for  years 
the  summer  home  of  the  popes,  and  now  occupied 
by  the  Cardinal  Secretary  during  the  heated  sea¬ 
son,  as  well  as  to  the  lakes  of  Albano  and  Nemi, 
all  will  appeal  to  the  traveller  with  time  at  his  dis- 

[221] 


<0lb  palaces  anb  Cfmrcfjes 


posal,  but  most  people  will  be  forced  to  leave  many, 
many  places  to  be  seen  on  another  visit,  and  will 
try  to  console  themselves  with  belief  in  the  truth 
of  the  tradition  of  the  Trevi  fountain,  and  the 
“  next  time  ”  it  promises  to  those  who  fulfill  its 
conditions. 


[  222  ] 


CHAPTER  XII. 


HV"T* APLES  is  not  quite  150  miles  from  Rome, 
I  ^  and  express  trains  accomplish  the  journey 
in  a  trifle  over  five  hours.  There  is,  once 
a  week,  a  train  de  luxe  which  actually  takes  but  a 
few  minutes  over  four  hours,  but  such  unheard-of 
speed  could  not  be  expected  every  day  in  Italy. 
Omnibus  trains  take  ten  hours  to  accomplish  it. 
The  train  de  luxe  has  a  dining  car,  but  for  the 
others  it  is  best  not  to  trust  to  the  one  buffet  sta¬ 
tion,  but  provide  oneself  with  the  baskets  sold  in  the 
Roman  station  for  two  and  one-half  lire,  which 
contain  a  good  lunch  both  as  to  quantity  and 
quality,  nicely  put  up,  with  a  bottle  of  wine  and  one 
of  water,  with  knife,  corkscrew,  complete  even  to 
the  toothpicks,  without  which  no  Italian  meal  is 
finished.  The  country  between  the  two  cities  is 
very  attractive ;  always  mountains  on  the  left-hand 
side.  A  short  distance  from  Rome  is  seen  the  cha¬ 
teau  of  the  Borghese  family.  After  about  four 
hours’  travel  on  the  express  train,  a  glimpse  is 
caught  of  Vesuvius,  and  a  little  later  of  Ischia  on 
the  right,  then  both  disappear  again  behind  a  bend. 
Still  further  the  train  passes  directly  in  front  of 
the  royal  palace  at  Caserta,  set  in  a  park,  with  a 
broad  avenue  leading  up  to  the  entrance.  It  was 

[  223  ] 


Naples  anb 

built  for  the  kings  of  Naples,  but  now,  of  course, 
belongs  to  the  king  of  Italy  and  is  styled  the  Ver¬ 
sailles  of  Naples.  Another  glimpse  of  Vesuvius, 
this  time  on  the  left,  and  the  train  rolls  into  the 
station  at  Naples. 

This  is  a  large  building  with  a  square  in  front 
of  it,  from  which  broad  streets  lead  in  every  direc¬ 
tion.  Cabs  and  electric  trams  stand  waiting,  and 
possibly  the  first  impression  from  this  point  of 
arrival  is  disapjiointing.  It  is  all  very  modern  and 
commonplace.  If  one’s  hotel  or  pension  be  in  the 
lower  portion  of  the  city,  close  to  the  bay,  cab  or 
tram  starts  off  down  a  street  of  shops,  and  after 
a  few  turns  comes  out  close  to  the  water,  on  a  broad 
street  running  past  the  wharfs,  with  a  low  wall  on 
the  water  side,  where,  if  it  is  daylight  and  sunny, 
Neapolitans  are  lounging,  basking  in  the  sunshine, 
some  of  them  selling  fruit  or  vegetables,  some  un¬ 
abashedly  assisting  others  in  little  matters  of  the 
toilet,  and  especially  the  care  of  the  hair,  which 
are  usually  performed  behind  closed  doors.  The 
Neapolitan  women  have  luxuriant  hair.  Both 
sexes  are  very  lazy,  dirty,  happy-go-lucky  (among 
the  lower  classes  be  it  of  course  understood),  and 
sing  charmingly. 

When  the  beautiful  blue  bay  with  its  islands,  and 
the  promontory  of  Sorrento  lies  spread  out  before 
you,  in  spite  of  all  the  rhapsodies,  the  poems,  the 
enthusiastic  descriptions  in  all  languages  that  have 
been  written  about  the  Bay  of  Naples,  it  is  diffi- 

[  224  ] 


tf )t  #ap  i^eapolitans 


cult  to  find  anyone  who  will  not  declare  that  the 
reality  surpasses  all  descriptions.  I  never  met  but 
one  who  cherished  a  contrary  opinion,  and  he  was 
a  German.  He  confided  to  me  that  he  was  greatly 
disappointed  in  it,  and  did  not  think  it  at  all 
remarkable,  but  he  had  just  had  a  very  annoying 
experience  with  some  Neapolitans,  and  this  may 
account  for  it. 

Not  far  from  the  hnmacolatella  Nuova — would 
anyone  outside  of  Naples  suspect  that  and  its 
neighbour,  the  hnmacolatella  vecchia,  of  being  the 
names  of  landing  places  for  steamers?— is  a  pictur¬ 
esque  old  chateau,  at  the  end  of  the  old  city,  and 
now  used  as  a  military  prison.  Then  comes  Castel 
Nuovo,  towering  on  high,  anything  but  new  look¬ 
ing  save  for  the  restorations,  and  used  as  a  bar¬ 
racks.  The  electric  tram  line  turns  here,  and  cabs 
will  do  the  same,  inland  from  the  bay,  up  a  broad 
street  with  palms;  another  turn,  and  the  gardens 
of  the  royal  palace  and  of  the  famous  San  Carlo 
theatre  which  connects  with  the  palace,  are  passed, 
and  one  comes  out  into  a  piazza,  upon  which  the 
palace  faces,  with  opposite  the  beautiful  church  of 
San  Francesco  di  Paola,  with  its  colonnade  on  each 
side.  From  this  piazza  starts  the  Via  Toledo,  one 
of  the  principal  shojiping  streets  in  Naples,  and  on 
the  square  at  either  side  of  the  church  are  caffes, 
one  the  celebrated  Gambrinus,  the  most  elegant  of 
Naples,  the  other  a  cheaper  one.  At  both  of  these 
caffes  bands  play  in  the  evening,  and  the  Gam- 

[  225  ] 


Naples  anb 


brinus  is  a  great  resort  for  the  young  Neapolitans 
of  fashion.  The  street  turns  back  to  the  water 
again,  soon  after  passing  through  this  square, 
and  runs  past  the  picturesque  Castello  d’Ovo,  built 
on  a  projecting  rocky  point.  This  is  in  the  section 
of  the  town  known  as  Santa  Lucia.  It  was  once  a 
crowded  section,  but  many  old  buildings  have  been 
razed,  newer  ones  erected,  or  the  open  space  left, 
giving  a  fine  view  of  the  bay.  One  will  be  struck 
by  the  towering  buildings  on  the  land  side  in  many 
portions  of  this  street.  They  seem  very  many 
storied  from  this  side,  but  face  on  another  parallel 
street  at  a  much  higher  level,  and  these  rear  stories 
are  beneath  the  level  of  that  street.  From  the  Cas¬ 
tello  d’Ovo  a  broad  street  runs  close  to  the  bay  out 
to  Posillipo,  and  especially  in  the  evening,  with 
the  long  row  of  lights  curving  at  the  foot  of  the 
hills  like  a  brilliant  necklace,  with  the  dark  waters 
of  the  bay  reflecting  them,  the  sight  is  wonderfully 
attractive.  The  brick  sea-wall  is  on  one  side,  and 
here  all  day  long  men  and  boys  fish.  When  there  is 
a  storm,  waves  often  break  over  the  top  of  the  wall. 
On  the  land  side  are  hotels  and  pensions,  inter¬ 
rupted  for  a  time  by  the  Villa  Nazionale,  a  park 
with  palms  and  flowers,  and  broad  walks  beneath 
shade  trees,  with  statues  gleaming  through  the 
green.  In  this  park  is  the  famous  Naples  Aquar¬ 
ium,  with  its  many  varieties  of  strange  fish,  in  artis¬ 
tically  arranged  interiors  of  great  glass  tanks. 

The  visitor  whose  quarters  are  in  the  upper  por- 
[  226  ] 


The  Piazza  Navone 


tfje  i^capolttans 

tion  of  the  town  will  pass  through  more  that  is  typi¬ 
cally  Neapolitan  in  reaching  them.  From  the 
station  he  may  pass  the  old  cathedral,  possibly  the 
fine  museum  and  one  of  the  covered  galleries  of 
shops,  although  the  larger,  more  popular  one,  with 
its  caffes,  is  down  near  the  Piazza  San  Ferdinando, 
with  the  royal  palace,  and  the  church  already^  re¬ 
ferred  to.  After  the  museum  he  will  pass  through 
narrow,  crooked  streets,  where  goats,  cows,  pigs 
and  chickens  wander  about  unrestrained,  until  he 
comes  out  on  the  broad  Corso  Vittorio  Emanuele, 
winding  and  twisting  along  high  above  the  sea 
level,  aff ording  an  excellent  view  of  the  entire  bay, 
of  old  Vesuvius,  and  of  the  lower  town.  Up  here 
are  more  hotels  and  pensions,  with  little  villas  set 
in  gardens,  and  on  the  heights  above  large,  hand¬ 
some  ones.  A  funicular  railway  runs  from  this 
street  up  to  the  Castle  St.  Elmo,  with  its  enormous 
walls.  This  castle  is  now  used  as  a  military  prison, 
and  is  not  open  to  visitors  without  a  special  permit, 
but  within  the  outer  wall  is  the  old  Chartreuse  mon¬ 
astery,  now  a  museum,  and  its  church. 

The  Naples  museum  when  it  is  finished,  will  be 
one  of  the  most  magnificent  buildings  of  its  kind. 
Immense  additions  and  various  changes  are  being 
made,  and  some  of  the  collections  are  still  invisible, 
but  the  numerous  rooms  completed  are  models  as 
regards  space  and  arrangement.  The  collection  of 
statuary  is  far  superior  to  that  of  paintings,  and  is 
beyond  words  to  describe,  with  its  Farnese  Flora, 

[  227  ] 


Jlaples  anb 


Hercules,  Bull — that  marvellous  group — the  latter 
occupying  a  prominent  position  at  the  end  of  a  suite 
of  rooms,  the  Venus  of  Capoue,  resembling  the 
Louvre  Venus  of  Milo,  and  with  both  arms  intact, 
to  mention  a  few  of  the  notable  pieces;  then  there 
are  the  collections  of  bronzes,  the  collections  of 
antique  glass,  and  especially  the  Pompeiian  collec¬ 
tions.  Almost  all  the  wall  frescoes  and  the  furnish¬ 
ings  of  the  houses  in  Pompeii  have  been  brought 
as  they  were  excavated  to  this  museum,  greatly  to 
the  disgust  of  the  custodians  of  Pompeii.  Here, 
beside  the  larger  articles  of  furniture,  one  gazes 
upon  cases  of  surgical  instruments,  resembling  in 
all  important  details  those  in  use  to-day,  one  sees 
eggs,  fruits,  vegetables,  just  as  they  were  left  on 
the  day  of  the  terrible  eruption,  now  petrified  and 
perfectly  preserving  their  forms. 

On  one  visit  to  this  museum  I  saw  the  largest 
personally  conducted  party  that  it  has  ever  been 
my  lot  to  encounter.  A  party  of  Germans  had 
chartered  a  steamer  and  were  making  a  tour  of  the 
important  seaports  of  Italy.  There  were  said  to  be 
150  of  them,  and  they  had  chosen  this  morning  to 
“  do  ”  the  museum.  One  large,  loud-voiced  man 
was  in  charge.  He  drove  them  through  the  entire 
museum  in  an  hour  or  less,  and  as  we  left  they  were 
preparing  to  do  the  same.  No  cabs  were  to  be  had 
by  any  save  this  party,  they  were  all  pre-empted. 
Five  or  six  guards  were  pressed  into  service,  and 
crowds  of  Neapolitans  surveyed  the  scene  from  the 

[  228  ] 


tfje  #aj>  Neapolitans 

opposite  side  of  the  street  with  amusement.  The 
loud-voiced  man  was  everywhere,  a  veil  streaming 
from  his  straw  hat,  and  frantically  brandishing  a 
large  green  umbrella,  while  his  gesticulations 
rivalled  those  of  a  Neapolitan.  With  shouts,  he 
managed  to  get  his  caravan  into  the  cabs,  and 
started  them  off  for  their  various  destinations. 

There  are  a  number  of  churches  that  may  be 
visited,  but  they  are  not  so  numerous  or  interesting 
as  those  in  other  Italian  cities,  and  visitors  will  be 
beset  by  the  most  troublesome  and  persistent  beg¬ 
gars  in  all  Italy.  At  the  church  of  San  Gennaro  is 
the  entrance  to  the  Neapolitan  catacombs.  In  the 
old  cathedral  dedicated  to  San  Gennaro  is  the 
chapel  of  that  saint,  constructed  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  at  a  cost  of  about  five  million  francs,  and 
containing  a  rich  treasure.  In  the  tabernacle  of 
the  high  altar — there  are  eight  altars  in  this  chapel 
— are  two  vases,  containing  the  blood  of  the  saint, 
a  bishop,  who  suffered  martyrdom  in  305.  Twice 
a  year  this  blood  liquefies,  we  are  told,  and  this  is 
a  great  festival  in  Naples,  for,  according  to  the 
rapidity  with  which  the  process  of  liquefaction 
takes  place  is  presaged  a  good  or  bad  succeeding 
year.  There  are  grand  processions,  the  streets  are 
thronged  with  Neapolitans,  and  the  critical  mo¬ 
ment  when  the  officiating  priest  raises  the  vase,  pre¬ 
viously  borne  in  triumph  through  the  town,  to  show 
the  liquefaction  is  most  exciting  according  to  all 
accounts.  Never  having  witnessed  this  ceremony, 

[  229  ] 


i^aple*  atib 

I  give  the  account  of  a  native  Neapolitan  gentle¬ 
man. 

“  You  know,”  he  related,  “the  people  all  believe 
in  this  miracle,  and  have  a  great  veneration  for  the 
saint,  but  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  the  blood 
liquefy.  If  it  takes  longer  than  what  is  considered 
the  proper  time,  the  same  people  who  have  been 
praying  to  San  Gennaro  break  out  into  impreca¬ 
tions,  curses  and  threats  against  him,  so  it  is  neces¬ 
sary  for  the  priest  to  see  that  it  liquefies  as  quickly 
as  possible,  and  it  is  always  managed.” 

The  curious  trait  which  can  lead  these  people 
from  prayers  to  curses  upon  the  object  of  their 
veneration,  casts  some  light  on  their  character. 
Yet  the  Neapolitans,  especially  the  lower  classes, 
are  undoubtedly  religious,  and  have  far  more  rever¬ 
ence  for  religion  than  some  of  the  northern 
Italians. 

These  Neapolitans,  and  in  this  term  is  usually 
included  the  people  from  the  neighbourhood, 
although  each  little  town  has  a  sufficiently  varied 
dialect  for  the  born  Italian  of  the  region  to  know 
instantly  from  which  a  speaker  comes — are  the 
object  of  continual  abuse  from  the  northern  Ital¬ 
ians.  According  to  the  latter  they  are  lazy, 
treacherous,  deceitful,  violent,  cheats  and  illiterate. 
Some  virtues  these  northerners  will  allow  Sicilians, 
although  they  descant  upon  their  violent  tempers 
and  revengeful  natures.  They  frequently  declare 
that  if  all  that  portion  of  Italy  south  of  Rome 

[  230  ] 


tfje  4laj>  J^eapclftans 

could  be  wiped  out  it  would  be  an  excellent  thing 
for  Italy.  The  Neapolitan  shrugs  his  shoulders 
and  smiles  at  this  abuse,  he  is  walling  to  admit  that 
he  is  lazy,  but  insists  that  lie  is  brighter,  and  cer¬ 
tainly  they  are  wonderfully  quick.  Genoese  and 
Neapolitans  are  especial  enemies,  and  they  see  much 
of  each  other,  for  almost  all  the  Italian  ships  touch¬ 
ing  at  Naples  are  manned  and  officered  by  Genoese, 
although  some  of  the  sailors  are  of  the  despised 
mcridionali,  as  the  inhabitants  of  the  south  of  Italy 
are  styled. 

“  It  is  quite  natural  that  the  Genoese  should  hate 
us,”  declares  the  Neapolitan,  easily.  “  Whenever 
vre  go  to  Genoa  to  seek  employment  we  always  find 
it,  and  prosper,  but  no  Genoese  ever  succeeds  here, 
lie  is  too  slow!  ” 

“  Whenever  a  government  official  is  in  disgrace, 
or  under  a  cloud,”  declares  the  northern  Italian 
with  equal  positiveness,  “he  is  stationed  in  the 
meridionali  provinces;  that  is  sufficient  punishment 
for  him!  ” 

The  northern  Italians  declare  that  the  Neapoli¬ 
tans  are  idle,  shiftless,  and  unwilling  to  work. 
Speaking  of  their  evident  poverty,  one  is  told  that 
this  is  largely  their  own  fault,  that  they  will  not 
work  continuously,  but  merely  for  a  few  days,  and 
then  live  in  idleness  until  the  money  they  have 
earned  is  gone;  that  all  the  improvements  in  the 
condition  of  their  streets,  their  fine  water  supply, 
are  due  to  the  efforts  of  the  government  on  their 

[231  ] 


Hapleg  anti 


behalf,  without  any  exertion,  in  fact,  sometimes 
with  opposition  on  their  part.  But  they  are  a 
happy-go-lucky  people.  They  eat  little,  and  that 
little  is  cheaply  procured,  they  are  usually  warm 
enough  without  fires,  the  bright  sunshine  is  suffi¬ 
cient,  and  they  lounge  about,  happy  and  contented. 
They  have  their  little  stabbing  frays,  but  no  mat¬ 
ter!  They  frequent  the  opera,  even  the  poorest  find 
means  for  this,  and  they  cheat  the  foreigner  whom 
Fate  sends  in  their  path.  They  steal  the  valises 
of  the  unwary  from  beneath  their  very  noses — or  so 
at  least  the  Neapolitans  frankly  declare— and  as 
foreigners  sit  in  fancied  security  in  their  cabs 
on  their  way  to  hotels.  They  are  quite  sure  that 
no  hotel  proprietor  will  take  very  active  steps  to 
recover  his  guest’s  property,  for  as  one  of  them  said 
when  remonstrated  with  for  not  doing  more  to  re¬ 
cover  bags  stolen  from  a  cab,  while  arriving  guests 
were  superintending  the  transfer  of  their  luggage 
from  cab  to  hotel  entrance:  “  Signora,  you  do  not 
understand!  We  have  to  live  here,  but  you  are 
here  merely  for  a  short  time.  What  can  we  do?  ” 
But  although  northern  Italians  unite  in  con¬ 
demning  the  meridionale,  they  make  many  slight¬ 
ing  remarks  about  each  other.  A  friend  and  I  were 
once  amused  by  a  conversation  carried  on  in  our 
presence  by  a  Genoese,  a  Milanese,  and  another 
gentleman  from  near  Milan,  while  a  Neapolitan 
listened  in  amused  indulgence,  without  contradict¬ 
ing  their  statements.  The  three  heaped  abuse  upon 

[  232  ] 


tfje  <@ ap  j?eapolitana 

Naples,  its  people  and  habits.  The  city  was  too 
dirty  for  words,  etc.  Then  the  Genoese,  after  the 
three  had  agreed  absolutely  on  Naples,  departed, 
whereupon  the  other  two  continued : 

“  Yes,  but  he  need  not  say  much  about  Genoa. 
It  is  not  such  a  clean  city  that  he  need  brag  about 
it.  Where  in  Milan  would  one  see  clothes  hung  out 
of  the  street  windows  to  dry  as  one  sees  in  Genoa? 
And  the  streets  there!  Are  they  clean,  pray?  ” 

“Oh,  no  indeed,”  promptly  assented  the  other 
Milanese.  “As  a  matter  of  fact,  as  everyone 
knows,  Milan  is  the  cleanest  city  in  Italy  by  all 
odds.  And  not  only  the  cleanest,  but  the  most 
civilized,  the  most  modern,  the  most  comfortable.” 

My  friend  turned  to  me.  “Do  they  call  this 
‘United  Italy’?”  she  remarked,  whereupon  the 
Neapolitan  broke  his  silence. 

“  A  noted  Italian  statesman,  Cavour,  stated  that 
the  making  of  Italy  had  been  accomplished,  but 
that  it  was  now  necessary  to  make  the  Italians.” 

The  Neapolitan  carries  on  lengthy  conversations 
by  means  of  pantomime.  A  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
the  lifting  of  an  eyebrow,  a  motion  of  the  head,  all 
have  their  significance.  They  love  their  soft,  musi¬ 
cal  dialect,  and  all  speak  it,  educated  as  well  as 
ignorant  classes.  The  regular  cab  tariff  has  no 
meaning  for  them.  The  Neapolitan  makes  a  slight 
gesture  with  one  finger,  hardly  noticeable  to  the 
unprepared  foreigner,  and  mentions  his  destina¬ 
tion.  The  cabman  gives  a  nod,  and  probably  a  nod 

[  233  ] 


Naples  anil 


of  assent.  This  means  that  he  consents  to  drive  the 
other  to  his  destination  for  just  half  the  tariff  rate, 
or  35  centesimi  instead  of  70.  He  may  murmur  in 
the  most  matter  of  fact  and  cheerful  tone  in  the 
Neapolitan  dialect:  “  I  die  of  hunger,”  but  neither 
party  takes  this  seriously.  A  small  tip  is  given,  and 
all  is  well.  The  foreigner  will  not  escape  with  the 
tariff  fare  unless  he  is  perfectly  familiar  with  it, 
and  either  hands  the  driver  this,  together  with  the 
always  customary  pourboire  in  such  a  knowing 
manner  that  the  cabman  thinks  it  useless  to  com¬ 
ment,  or  makes  a  bargain  beforehand.  Personally, 
I  prefer  the  former  method,  and  never  had  any 
trouble  but  once.  On  that  occasion  I  ordered  the 
cabman,  who  had  begun  informing  me  what  I  must 
pay  him  before  we  had  more  than  started  on  our 
journey,  to  call  the  guard.  He  objected,  but  I  per¬ 
sisted,  and  the  guard,  noticing  the  trouble,  came  up. 
He  listened  to  me,  told  me  I  was  quite  right  in  the 
amount  I  stated  to  be  the  cabman’s  due,  lectured 
the  man,  ordered  him  to  drive  on,  and  there  was  no 
more  trouble.  When  after  several  visits  cabmen 
offered  to  take  me  to  destinations  not  too  near  at 
hand  for  40  centeshni  I  felt  that  I  had  become 
almost  a  Neapolitan. 

Down  by  the  Castello  d’Ovo  is  a  group  of  caffes 
and  restaurants,  together  with  a  large  bathing 
establishment  and  theatre  where,  in  summer,  per¬ 
formances  of  operettas  are  given.  The  theatre  is 
partly  open,  and  during  the  intermissions  one  may 

[  234  ] 


tfje  #aj>  J^eapolttana 


go  out  on  a  kind  of  dock,  directly  overlooking  the 
bay,  and  partake  of  ices,  or  watch  the  little  fishing 
boats  dart  about  the  bay  with  their  bright  light  in 
the  bows  to  dazzle  and  attract  the  fish  victims,  who 
are  then  deftly  speared.  Of  the  restaurants  of  this 
section  the  Starita  is  the  best  known,  and  here  one 
may  dine  very  pleasantly  in  summer.  Directly 
opposite,  across  the  bay,  rises  Vesuvius,  and  when 
obliging  enough  to  be  in  action,  it  is  a  truly  im¬ 
pressive  sight  with  the  crimson  lava  gushing  down 
its  sides,  the  molten  stones  rising  to  a  great  height. 
Sometimes,  though,  the  treacherous  mountain  is 
quiet  as  the  proverbial  lamb,  with  perhaps  a  faint 
tiny  puff  of  smoke,  white,  and  easily  to  be  mis¬ 
taken  for  a  cloud,  floating  above  it  by  day,  and 
quite  dark  at  night.  Further  along  Sorrento  is 
seen,  and  close  at  hand  are  always  anchored  pri¬ 
vate  yachts.  The  tables  fill  up  quite  early  in  the 
evening,  and  the  musicians  aj>pear,  playing  on 
mandolins  and  guitars,  and  singing  the  beautiful 
Neapolitan  songs.  They  are  quick  as  a  flash  at  dis¬ 
covering  the  foreigner,  and  devote  themselves  en¬ 
tirely  to  him,  although  Italians  always  respond  with 
small  coins  when  the  hat  is  passed  around  after 
every  two  or  three  songs.  A  number  of  prizes  for 
new  songs  are  offered  at  the  annual  festival  of 
Piedigrotta  early  in  September,  and  the  most  re¬ 
cent  prize-winning  songs  are  apt  to  be  asked  for 
by  the  Neapolitans. 

If  one  wishes  to  dine  off  Neapolitan  specialties 
[  235  ] 


J^aple*  anb 

this  is  the  place  to  do  so.  Here  are  all  kinds  of  fish 
fresh  from  the  water,  clams,  oysters,  and  other  shell 
fish,  the  devil  fish,  considered  such  a  delicacy  by  the 
Neapolitans,  but  which  we  are  apt  to  find  tough 
and  tasteless,  the  trillia,  like  large  gold  fish,  etc. 
Spaghetti  cooked  with  vongole,  like  tiny  crabs,  is 
delicious.  Another  popular  dish  served  as  an 
entree  is  mazzorella.  This  is  a  kind  of  cream 
cheese,  and  is  sometimes  eaten  as  a  cheese  course, 
but  also  served  with  sauce  or  gravy  poured  over  it, 
and  more  palatable  than  this  may  sound.  Canno- 
lichi,  for  those  who  can  resolve  to  eat  them,  are 
delicious.  The  first  two  or  three  are  more  than 
difficult  to  manage.  They  are  shell  fish  of  about 
the  size  and  shape  of  mussels,  and  are  opened  like 
oysters.  But  the  opening  does  not  kill  them,  sev¬ 
eral  bites  are  necessary  for  this,  and  the  sight  of 
them  squirming  as  the  shell  is  opened  is  usually 
enough  for  the  foreigner. 

All  along  the  road  out  to  Posillipo,  the  cape 
southwest  of  Naples,  bounding  the  bay  on  that  side, 
are  restaurants  where  it  is  delightful  to  dine  or 
lunch,  for  all  have  exquisite  views  of  the  bay  and 
islands.  Many  of  these  restaurants  are  directly 
over  the  water,  but  high  above  it.  There  is  one  in 
the  never  finished  palace  of  Donna  Anna,  a  con¬ 
spicuous  structure  with  its  windowless  openings. 
A  charming  way  to  go  to  Posillipo  is  by  sail¬ 
boat  from  Santa  Lucia,  Naples,  after  careful 
bargaining. 


[  236  ] 


tfje  Neapolitans 

Everyone  should  see  the  old  portion  of  Naples, 
and  the  best  way  to  do  so  is  to  engage  a  cabman  to 
take  one  through  that  section.  Few  foreigners 
would  care  to  walk,  f or  one  is  quite  close  enough  to 
people  and  houses  in  a  cab,  and  is  not  annoyed. 
Here  one  will  pass  down  narrow  streets  where  it 
would  be  difficult  indeed  for  two  cabs  to  pass,  and 
usually  they  are  quite  without  sidewalks.  Off  of 
these  open  dark  little  holes  of  shops,  with  often  a 
single  large  square  opening  on  the  street  serving 
as  door,  window,  and  sole  means  of  ventilation. 
Occasionally  from  one  of  these  streets  there  are 
glimpses  of  a  stairway  or  entrance  to  an  old  palace. 
Out  in  these  narrow  streets  the  people  swarm, 
sometimes  carrying  on  business,  sometimes  busy 
with  work,  but  often  merely  idling  and  gossiping 
with  their  neighbours.  All  kinds  of  cooked  food 
are  on  sale,  laid  out  on  trays  or  cooking  in  great 
kettles  out  in  the  street  itself.  One  sees  croquettes, 
fried  fish  of  all  kinds,  cakes,  and  heaps  of  macca- 
roni  or  spaghetti,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that 
it  is  often  appetizing  looking,  although  only  the 
brave,  thinking  how  it  must  be  prepared,  and  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  offered  for  sale,  would  care 
to  taste  it.  The  Neapolitan  populace  patronize 
these  cooked  foods  largely,  it  saves  them  so  much 
trouble!  They  are  very  picturesque,  but,  oh,  so 
dirty!  On  one  of  these  drives,  our  cabman  sud¬ 
denly  turned,  and  said  in  very  fair  English:  “  This 
is  the  Mulberry  Bend  of  Naples!  ”  “  What?  You 

[  237  ] 


Jlaples;  anti 


have  been  in  New  York?  ”  we  asked.  “Oh,  yes,” 
was  the  reply.  “  I  was  there  for  nearly  a 
year.” 

Nothing  that  I  experienced  in  Naples,  not  the 
cabmen  who  made  a  bargain,  and  then  just  before 
one  arrived  at  her  destination  turned  and  remarked 
upon  the  advisability  and  real  obligation  of  paying 
them  more,  not  the  persistent  beggars,  equalled 
what  I  encountered  the  morning  I  unadvisedly  went 
alone  to  Pozzuoli.  Everyone  said  that  the  view 
alone  was  worth  the  trip,  even  if  I  should  find,  as 
seemed  probable,  that  I  did  not  care  to  undertake 
to  visit  the  Temple  of  Serapis,  and  the  Solfatera, 
the  volcano  once  supposed  extinct,  but  now  re¬ 
garded  with  some  suspicion,  with  its  hot  geysers, 
sulphurous  vapours,  and  ground  unpleasantly  hot 
beneath  the  feet. 

Fortunately,  various  warnings  I  had  received 
before  coming  to  Naples  led  me  to  decide  that  it 
would  be  rash  to  drive  there  alone.  The  convenient 
electric  tram  takes  one  there  in  three-quarters  of  an 
hour,  for  twenty-five  or  thirty  centesimi ,  according 
to  whether  one  travels  second  or  first  class,  and  the 
latter  manner  makes  it  reasonably  certain  that  one 
will  not  be  crowded.  For  some  time  after  leaving 
Naples  the  tram  ran  along  a  broad  road  between 
farms,  then  turned  close  to  the  water’s  edge,  the 
beautiful  Bay  of  Posillipo,  with  ahead  a  long 
promontory,  on  which  are  the  lakes  of  Averno, 
Fusaro,  etc.,  ending  in  the  Cape  of  Miseno. 

[  238  ] 


tf )t  Jgeapolitang 

As  soon  as  the  tram  stopped,  everyone  alighting 
was  beset  by  a  madly  gesticulating  mob,  all  impor¬ 
tuning  them,  and  begging  to  be  allowed  to  guide 
them  to  the  temple,  to  the  volcano,  to  the  town, 
anywhere.  I  set  out  in  what  I  thought  must  be  the 
opposite  direction  to  any  of  these  attractions — a 
ruse  which  had  sometimes  before  succeeded  very 
well — and  assured  them  in  my  most  careful  Italian 
that  I  wanted  no  guide,  did  not  want  to  go  any¬ 
where,  or  see  anything,  and  some  fell  back.  I 
walked  out  past  a  kind  of  magazine,  along  a  road 
close  to  the  water,  and  leaned  against  the  low  stone 
wall  close  to  its  edge,  prepared  to  enjoy  the  ex¬ 
quisite  scenery.  One  man  and  two  boys  followed, 
but  I  finally  banished  the  man,  when  suddenly  one 
small  boy  murmured  sweetly,  close  to  my  side: 

“  Signora,  I  will  take  you  to  the  temple  and  the 
volcano  for  fifty  centesimi.” 

“No,  I  do  not  wish  to  go.” 

“  Signora,  you  cannot  possibly  find  the  way 
alone!  ” 

“  I  do  not  wish  to  go  anywhere.  V a  via!  ” 

“  Signor ina,  fifty  centesimi!  ”  quite  as  if  nothing 
had  been  said  before  on  the  subject,  and  with  equal 
sweetness,  while  the  other  boy  stood  near,  probably 
prepared  to  underbid  if  I  showed  signs  of  weaken¬ 
ing.  I  turned  my  back,  and  gazed  fixedly  at  the 
water.  I  really  wanted  to  enjoy  the  view  in  peace, 
but  on  and  on,  like  a  persistent  bumble-bee,  went 
that  voice,  always  the  same  sentence,  over  and  over 

[  239  ] 


Naples  anb 


again.  Finally  I  turned,  and  expressed  my  opinion 
of  the  boy  with  great  distinctness,  and  in  carefully 
chosen  Italian,  which  I  know  that  he  understood 
perfectly.  The  boy  gazed  at  me,  and  waited  in 
perfect  silence  and  politeness  until  I  had  quite 
finished.  (I  really  thought  that  I  had  exhausted 
the  subject.)  Then  he  remarked  calmly:  “Sig¬ 
norina,  forty  centesimi l”  At  that  I  turned  and 
departed  in  disgust,  and  he  and  the  other  boy  fol¬ 
lowed  close  behind,  not  in  the  least  abashed.  When 
I  turned  towards  the  town,  he  called  out:  “ Sig- 
norina,  that  is  not  the  way  to  the  volcano!”  and, 
only  after  I  had  walked  on  in  the  same  direction 
with  absolute  unconcern  and  for  some  rods,  did 
those  two  boys  leave  me.  I  wandered  down  a  nar¬ 
row  little  street  to  the  market-place,  where  a  mar¬ 
ket  was  being  held,  but  this  was  but  making 
matters  worse  for  myself.  Women  and  children 
surrounded  me,  offering  to  guide  me  anywhere, 
even  back  to  the  tram,  not  one  minute’s  walk  away, 
and  hardly  out  of  sight;  five  or  six  men  from  the 
boxes  of  their  cabs  called  imploringly:  ", Signora ,  let 
us  earn  a  little  money  by  taking  you  to  the  lakes!  ” 
or  most  persuasively:  "  Signorina,  give  me  a  chance 
to  make  a  little  money!  Twenty  francs  to  Baia 
and  return!”  “Signorina,  nineteen  francs!”  I 
turned  and  actually  fled  back  to  the  tram,  which 
fortunately  was  waiting.  Not  for  worlds  would 
I,  alone,  or  in  the  company  of  women  only,  have 
trusted  myself  to  those  cabmen.  I  should  have 

[  240  ] 


tlje  (^aj>  .Neapolitans 

expected  them  to  enforce  demands  for  more  money 
with  a  stiletto  on  the  first  lonely  stretch  of  road. 

I  learned  afterwards — one  usually  does  hear 
these  things  afterwards — that  the  trip  to  Pozzuoli 
may  best  be  taken  by  purchasing  excursion  tickets 
at  the  Naples  railway  station,  which  tickets  include 
everything.  The  capostazione — the  head  of  the 
station,  and  distinguishable  always  by  a  red  cap — 
then  assigns  passengers  having  these  tickets  to  the 
cabs  to  take  them  to  the  volcano,  and  to  the  temple, 
the  entrance  fee  to  both  is  included,  and  even  the 
amount  of  the  pourboire  due  the  guide  is  plainly 
printed  upon  the  ticket.  By  bargaining  in  Naples 
with  a  cabman  one  may  drive  there  and  back,  and 
probably  it  would  be  possible  to  do  this  without 
serious  annoyance. 

The  palace  of  Capodimonte  is  worth  seeing,  with 
its  collections  of  paintings  and  statuary,  its  arms, 
and  relics  of  the  former  kings  of  Naples,  and  also 
because  it  is  beautifully  situated.  The  paintings 
are  chiefly  modern,  and  not  remarkable. 

More  interesting  is  the  trip  to  the  confiscated 
convent  of  San  Martino,  a  delightful  drive.  The 
road  ascends  in  long  curves,  with  exquisite  views 
continually,  and  passes  many  villas  of  wealthy 
Neapolitans.  In  the  former  convent  but  a  very 
few  monks  remain,  all  extremely  old.  When  all 
are  dead  there  will  be  none  to  take  their  place,  as 
then  the  entire  building  w’ill  be  a  public  museum, 
as  the  greater  portion  of  it  now  is.  These  Carthu- 

[  241  ] 


Naples!  anb 


sian  monks  were  once  vowed  to  silence,  as  in  the 
other  convents  of  that  order,  but  they  have  been  re¬ 
leased  from  this  vow  now,  when  they  are  waited  on 
no  longer  by  lay  brothers,  but  by  servants  in  the 
employ  of  the  government,  and  the  poor  old  men 
must  find  their  lot  greatly  changed,  even  if  most 
people  would  fancy  it  almost  pleasanter. 

This  was  a  very  rich  monastery,  and  there  are 
many  paintings  and  sculptures,  sarcophagi,  and 
some  national  trophies  transferred  to  the  museum, 
such  as  the  bark  in  which  Charles  III.  used  to  be 
rowed  in  the  bay,  a  carriage  in  which  King  Victor 
Emanuel  II.  and  Garibaldi  made  their  triumphal 
entry  into  the  city,  etc.  The  large  church  is  richly 
decorated  with  marbles,  there  are  some  interesting 
paintings  here  as  well.  But  the  chief  charm  of  this 
museum,  and  one  which  distinguishes  it  from  all 
the  others  of  Naples,  is  the  magnificent  view  of  all 
Naples,  of  the  bay,  of  the  whole  countryside,  which 
may  be  had  from  the  Belvedere,  or  rather  from  its 
balconies. 

There  is  one  favourite  amusement  of  the  Nea¬ 
politans  which  a  Neapolitan  friend  was  most  anx¬ 
ious  that  we  should  try,  but  we  felt  little  inclination 
to  do  so.  Two  or  three — they  do  not  hesitate  to 
crowd  five  or  six  at  will  in  the  small  cabs,  with 
their  small,  active  horses,  usually  wearing  the  odd 
high  collars,  with  bright  metal  ornaments  and 
feather  spikes  standing  up  on  the  horse’s  neck,  a 
remnant  of  the  Spanish  days — two  or  three  then 

[  242  ] 


House  of  the  Faun,  Pompeii 


ttje  #ap  Neapolitans! 

select  an  especially  active-looking  horse,  strong  and 
sturdy,  and  arrange  with  the  driver  who  under¬ 
stands  the  game,  and  then  get  in  and  seat  them¬ 
selves.  The  driver  then  starts  the  horse  off  at  a 
run,  increasing  his  pace  to  the  utmost.  The  passen¬ 
gers  cling  as  best  they  may  to  the  small,  swaying 
carriage,  as  it  is  dashed  along,  and  hurled  from 
side  to  side  in  reckless  flight.  This  goes  on  until 
the  horse  is  tired,  or  the  carriage  smashed.  The 
latter  almost  never  occurred,  according  to  our 
friend,  but  we  were  not  convinced. 

I  did  not  find  these  Neapolitan  cab  horses  what 
I  had  been  led  to  expect.  There  is  a  society  for  the 
prevention  of  cruelty  to  animals  in  Naples,  per¬ 
haps  it  is  due  to  its  eff  orts  that  the  horses  no  longer 
seem,  generally  speaking,  battered,  bruised,  starved- 
looking  creatures,  covered  with  sores,  as  one  often 
heard  them  described.  They  are  small,  wiry  and 
vigorous,  in  pretty  good  condition,  I  thought.  The 
cabmen,  frequently  arrayed  in  marvellous  rags,  are 
excitable,  of  course,  but  I  did  not  often  see  them 
abuse  their  horses.  The  cabs  are  not  the  cleanest, 
nor  very  comfortable,  but  by  choosing  from  fre¬ 
quented  cabstands  one  usually  can  find  one  in 
fairly  good  condition.  In  summer  the  trams  are 
far  preferable  when  possible,  and  they  run  almost 
everywhere  in  the  city.  They  are  swift,  cheap,  and 
much  cooler  than  the  open  cabs,  without  covers,  out 
in  the  bright  sunshine,  for  in  Naples  especially  to 
be  in  the  shade  means  at  almost  any  hour  of  the 

[  243  ] 


Jtaples;  anb 


day  to  be  comfortable,  since  there  is  almost  always 
a  good  breeze  from  the  sea.  Almost  all  trams  are 
open,  the  second  class,  unupholstered  seats  at  either 
end,  those  in  the  middle  for  the  first  class,  and,  as 
in  Naples,  working  people  see  no  reason  why  they 
should  spend  the  extra  soldo  merely  for  the  sake 
of  riding  first  class,  there  is  usually  plenty  of  room 
on  these  middle  seats. 

Naples  is  such  a  centre  for  delightful  excursions 
that  limited  time  there  is  tantalizing.  The  ascent 
of  Vesuvius,  when  possible,  means  a  day,  and  may 
or  may  not  be  successful,  for  if  all  seems  favour¬ 
able,  one  may  arrive  at  the  foot  of  the  cone  whether 
by  carriage  or  the  funicular,  which  has  so  often 
been  destroyed  recently,  but  promptly  rebuilt,  only 
to  be  told  that  further  ascent  is  impossible,  owing 
to  showers  of  hot  stones  or  ashes.  But  one  is  not 
apt  to  be  told  this  until  the  guide  is  engaged  and 
paid  for,  when  no  money  is  refunded.  This  is  a 
little  Neapolitan  peculiarity. 

Pompeii  takes  another  day.  Pictures  give  but 
little  idea  of  this  wonderful  spot,  the  beauty  of  its 
situation,  and  the  exquisite  views  on  every  side. 
One  may  go  by  rail  or  by  electric  tram,  and  the 
latter,  although  taking  more  time,  runs  through 
such  a  beautiful  section  of  country,  such  charming 
villages,  that  it  is  well  to  go  by  one  route  and  return 
by  the  other.  There  is  no  existing  village  now, 
merely  a  few  hotels  and  curio  shops  at  the  entrance 
to  the  ruins,  and  some  villas  near  by,  but  at  Valle 

[  244  ] 


tfje  <@aj>  Neapolitans; 

di  Pompeii,  less  than  a  mile  away,  quite  a  settle¬ 
ment  has  grown  up  around  the  church  of  Santa 
Maria  del  Rosario,  the  object  of  many  pilgrimages, 
and  even  with  the  terrible  example  of  Pompeii  in 
full  sight  above  them,  the  inhabitants  did  not,  at 
least  prior  to  the  terrible  eruption  of  1906,  seem  to 
have  the  least  fear  of  any  trouble  from  Vesuvius. 

Whenever  there  is  a  pilgrimage  to  this  church, 
with  its  large,  fine  organ — and  pilgrimages  are  fre¬ 
quent-tickets  are  sold  to  “pilgrims”  from  Rome 
and  return,  good  for  ten  days,  at  extremely  re¬ 
duced  rates  to  Valle  di  Pompeii,  with  stop-over 
privileges  at  Pompeii  and  Naples.  Anyone  may  be 
a  “  pilgrim,”  and  no  questions  asked,  with  the  one 
condition  that  he  or  she  leave  Rome  either  on  a 
Saturday  or  a  Sunday,  spending  the  night  in 
Naples  if  desired,  but  going  on  to  Pompeii  the  fol¬ 
lowing  day.  Here,  or  at  Valle  di  Pompeii  the 
ticket  must  be  stamped,  showing  that  the  visit  has 
been  paid  on  that  day,  but  pilgrims  are  under  no 
obligation  to  go  to  the  church  unless  they  choose. 

The  main  entrance  to  the  ruins  of  Pompeii  is  on 
a  hill  slightly  above  the  station.  A  broad  walk 
winds  up  through  a  park  to  the  actual  gate.  Three 
years  ago  matters  were  wonderfully  well  arranged. 
At  this  gate  guides  in  the  employ  of  the  govern¬ 
ment  met  one  and  the  admission  fee  of  two  lire 
included  the  services  of  one  of  these  governmental 
guides  for  every  three  or  four  persons.  These 
guides  were  a  very  nice  set  of  men,  speaking  Eng- 

[  245  ] 


Naples  anti 


lisli,  French  or  German  as  well  as  Italian.  Natur¬ 
ally  they  expected  a  tip,  but  they  earned  it,  for 
after  seeing  the  small  museum  at  the  gate  of  the 
old  city,  with  its  pathetic  exhibit  of  the  bodies 
found  buried  in  the  ruins,  including  one  poor  dog, 
it  was  several  hours  before  the  guide  finished  point¬ 
ing  out  the  chief  sights. 

Now  all  has  been  changed,  and  not  for  the  better. 
The  former  guides  have  each  been  assigned  to  a 
section  of  the  ruins.  These  sections,  as  formerly, 
are  fenced  in  for  the  greater  part,  and  to  see  their 
contents  gates  must  be  unlocked.  No  custodian 
may  leave  his  section,  and  as  the  streets  are  many 
and  confusing,  one  must  engage  a  guide  at  the  en¬ 
trance  to  take  one  about,  who,  in  turn,  must  petition 
each  custodian  to  open  his  section,  much  tipping 
ensues,  and  the  hired  guides  are  not  nearly  as  com¬ 
petent  as  the  former  ones. 

Excavations  are  constantly  being  made  here. 
One  house,  the  large  Casa  del  Vetti,  has  been  left 
as  it  was  when  discovered.  The  walls  of  the  banquet 
hall  are  covered  with  frescoes,  whose  delicate  col¬ 
ours,  against  the  black  background,  are  wonder¬ 
fully  fresh.  A  dado  is  formed  by  a  charming 
series  of  cherubs  engaged  at  various  occupations, 
dyers,  market  sellers,  apothecaries,  etc.,  while 
larger  panels  have  exquisite  female  figures  with 
delicate  hued  draperies.  The  marble  pillars  sup¬ 
porting  a  loggia  surrounding  a  court,  are  fairly 
well  preserved,  and  so  are  several  little  marble 

[  246  ] 


tfje  <§ap  JSeapolitans 


statues  and  fountains,  and  in  this  court  grass  and 
flowers,  such  as  probably  were  there  in  the  long 
vanished  days,  have  been  planted,  forming  a  pretty 
effect. 

Near  the  temple  of  Apollo,  in  a  niche,  is  a  mar¬ 
ble  slab  containing  public  measures,  and  the  large 
exchange  is  close  by.  On  the  slope  of  the  hill  are  the 
tragic  and  the  comic  theatres,  with  their  amphi¬ 
theatres  and  tiers  of  stone  steps.  The  public  baths 
are  very  remarkable,  with  a  large  marble  basin  for 
the  cold  plunge,  double  floors  in  the  hot  room,  be¬ 
tween  which  fires  used  to  be  made  to  raise  the  tem¬ 
perature  to  the  required  point.  Here  one  sees 
water  pipes  not  differing  greatly  from  those  of 
modern  times.  There  are  two  of  these  baths,  one 
for  men,  the  other  for  women,  and  one  can  but  be 
amazed  that  with  these  examples  ever  before  them 
the  modern  Italian  has  not  the  most  perfect  bath¬ 
ing  appliances. 

One  of  the  old  city  gates  opens  on  the  street  of 
the  sepulchres,  the  tombs  interspersed  with  a  few 
ruins  of  hostelries  where  all  those  centuries  ago  re¬ 
freshments  were  provided  for  returning  mourners. 
In  the  city  the  streets  are  narrow,  and  paved  with 
great  blocks  of  stone,  the  sidewalks  much  higher 
than  in  our  cities,  and  at  every  crossing  large 
stones  in  the  middle  of  the  street  for  the  conven¬ 
ience  of  pedestrians,  especially  in  rainy  weather,  so 
that  they  need  not  soil  or  wet  their  feet  in  the  mud, 
but  step  comfortably  across.  These  were  placed  so 

[  247] 


ilaplesi  anil 

that  the  chariot  wheels  and  the  horses  could  easily 
pass  between  them. 

Few  indeed  but  will  be  filled  with  emotion  as 
they  stroll  through  the  deserted  streets,  and  enter 
the  roofless  houses  of  this  ruined  city,  whose  great 
size  will  probably  come  as  a  surprise  when  seen  for 
the  first  time.  Respect  for  the  civilization  of  this 
vanished  people  mingles  with  awe  at  their  terrible 
fate,  even  though  one  is  told  that  comparatively 
few  were  buried  in  the  ruins. 

From  Pompeii  many  go  on  to  Castellamare  and 
take  the  delightful  drive  from  there  to  Sorrento,  or 
the  cheap  and  convenient  electric  tram,  which  runs 
along  the  same  road.  From  Sorrento  boats  run  to 
Capri,  and  from  Sorrento  one  also  may  take  the 
beautiful  drive  to  Amalfi,  where  the  road  is  cut  out 
in  the  rock,  and  runs  along  close  to  the  water,  the 
Gulf  of  Salerno.  Or  the  sail  from  Naples  to 
Capri,  stopping  if  one  choose  at  Sorrento,  may  be 
taken.  Those  who  suffer  from  seasickness  should 
be  very  sure  that  the  sea  is  calm.  Small  ripples  in 
the  bay  near  Naples  often  mean  great  waves  when 
the  boat  arrives  at  Capri,  and  even  if  one  does  not 
suffer  from  the  dreaded  mal  de  mer,  the  Blue 
Grotto  cannot  be  visited  if  the  sea  is  rough.  This 
was  my  experience. 

It  was  a  bright,  beautiful  morning,  the  sea  as 
blue  as  possible,  with  merely  a  ripple,  not  a  vestige 
of  white  caps,  and  we  prepared  to  enjoy  the  beauti¬ 
ful  scenery.  Alas !  in  half  an  hour  almost  everyone 

[248] 


tfje  <§>ap  Neapolitans 


had  left  the  deck  for  the  cabin,  and  the  few  who 
remained  sat  upright,  firmly  determined  not  to  suc¬ 
cumb,  but  far  from  happy.  Under  such  circum¬ 
stances,  the  blue  bay,  the  mountains  and  islands,  in 
exquisite  blue  and  purple  tints,  charmed  in  vain; 
the  one  thought  was :  would  it  be  possible  to  endure 
this  for  an  hour  and  three-quarters?  At  last  the 
steamer  came  to  a  stop  off  Capri.  Before  us  was 
a  towering  rock,  with  narrow  beach,  and  a  few 
fishermen’s  houses  close  to  the  shore,  a  rocky  pier 
jutting  out  towards  us,  and  the  most  curious  blue- 
green  coloured  sea  of  a  hue  such  as  I  never  saw 
elsewhere  save  in  impressionistic  paintings,  break¬ 
ing  against  it  in  great  waves.  Out  from  the  shore 
shot  large  rowboats,  and  as  we  prepared  to  enter 
them,  the  ship’s  officer  kindly  informed  us  that  it 
would  be  impossible  to  enter  the  Blue  Grotto  that 
day.  With  the  wind  in  the  direction  in  which  it 
was,  and  had  been  when  we  left  Naples,  it  never  is 
possible,  but  never,  never  could  a  stranger  learn 
that  before  starting. 

There  was  no  help  but  to  trust  oneself  in  the 
boat,  on  the  wildly  tossing  waves.  The  boatmen 
paid,  cabmen  implored  us  to  be  driven  to  Capri, 
the  village  high  above,  or  to  Anacapri,  a  village  on 
the  other  side  of  the  island. 

If  one  is  fond  of  a  steep  climb,  he  may  walk  to 
the  village,  high  above,  and  out  of  sight  from  the 
boat  landing,  a  cab  will  take  him  there  for  two 
lire  if  he  bargains,  or  he  may  have  a  donkey  for  less. 

[  249  ] 


Hapies  anb 

The  narrow,  rocky  road  bends  and  turns  back 
on  itself,  running  between  stone  walls,  and  with  the 
most  beautiful  view  imaginable,  out  over  lemon 
groves,  down  into  valleys,  and  to  the  blue  sea 
beyond,  with  Sorrento  but  a  short  distance  away, 
across  a  narrow  strait.  A  sudden  turn  in  the  road, 
and  one  sees  the  sea  on  the  other  side  as  well,  far 
below,  with  great  rocks  rising  out  of  it.  Then,  on 
one  of  the  highest  points  of  the  island  are  the  vast 
ruins  of  the  villa  of  Tiberius. 

The  village  itself  has  one  square,  with  post  office, 
town  hall,  etc.,  and  a  little  narrow  street  of  shops, 
with  another  hotel,  some  villas  and  a  few  houses  of 
the  people.  All  around  are  fascinating  walks  for 
good  climbers,  and  the  people  are  most  picturesque 
in  appearance.  Either  here,  at  Naples,  or  in  Sor¬ 
rento,  they  may  be  hired  to  dance  the  tarantella, 
that  fast  and  furious  dance,  and  for  this  they  don 
costumes  too  gaudy  to  be  quite  attractive. 

In  the  shops  everyone  assured  me  that  it  was 
quite  certain  to  be  a  fine  day  to-morrow  for  visiting 
the  Blue  Grotto.  It  would  be  a  great  pity  not  to 
wait  over.  But  such  had  to  be  the  case,  nor  was 
the  prospect  of  the  return  trip  a  pleasant  one,  as 
one  watched  the  steamers  rocking  and  pitching  as 
they  lay  at  anchor  off  the  shore.  The  boatmen 
declared  that  the  waves  were  already  much  smaller, 
one  could  almost  visit  the  grotto  now — of  course 
it  was  too  late  in  the  day — really  one  would  have 
thought  that  all  Capri  was  personally  interested  in 

[  250  ] 


tfje  ^aj>  i^capolttang 


having  me  see  that  grotto.  Since  my  unfortunate 
visit,  I  have  been  told  that  it  is  by  no  means 
unusual  for  the  entrance  to  be  impossible.  When 
everything  is  propitious,  rowboats  take  passengers 
from  the  steamer  or  from  Capri  itself  to  the  mouth 
of  the  grotto,  which  latter  trip  takes  nearly  an 
hour.  Then  small  boats,  holding  only  two  persons 
beside  the  rower,  enter  the  grotto.  A  man  in  a 
boat  outside  receives  the  money,  for  there  is  a 
regular  tariff,  and  keeps  account  of  the  boats.  To 
enter  the  grotto  one  must  lie  down  flat  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  for  the  entrance  is  only  about  three  feet 
in  height.  The  boatman  grasps  a  chain  stretched 
at  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  and  swings  the  boat 
inside.  This  in  itself  makes  many  people  ill.  Peo¬ 
ple  are  allowed  to  remain  inside  for  fifteen  minutes. 
If  this  is  not  long  enough,  there  is  an  extra  charge. 
They  do  say  that  the  boatmen  are  thoroughly 
unscrupulous,  and  if  the  party  be  a  small  one  resort 
to  threats  to  obtain  more  money. 

There  are  other  drawbacks  to  this  trip.  Should 
one  chance  to  remain  inside  the  grotto  a  little  too 
long,  or  should  a  sudden  wind  rise,  it  may  be  neces¬ 
sary  to  remain  there  until  the  tide  falls  or  the  wind 
changes;  but  this  is  not  a  frequent  occurrence. 

Sorrento  is  another  magical  spot,  a  favourite 
summer  resort  for  Neapolitans,  for  the  morning 
steamer  is  early  enough  for  business  men  to  go  in 
to  town  for  their  affairs,  and  they  can  come  back  in 
the  late  afternoon.  Steamers  stop  at  a  short  dis- 

[251] 


Naples  anli 


tance  from  the  rocky  shore,  and  transfer  their 
passengers  and  luggage  to  rowboats.  The  hotels 
are  built  close  to  the  edge  of  the  high  cliff  which 
is  washed  at  the  foot  by  the  sea.  There  is  here 
hardly  any  beach;  a  narrow  strip  of  pebbly  shore 
near  the  landing  of  the  largest  hotel  answers  for 
such,  and  there  are  the  bathing  establishments.  A 
small  pier  is  usually  built  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff 
directly  beneath  each  hotel,  and  from  this  a  path, 
half  steps,  half  incline,  with  sometimes  a  tunnel 
cut  in  the  rock,  ascends  steeply  to  the  hotel  itself. 
Up  this  steep  path  the  porters  carry  people’s  lug¬ 
gage  on  their  backs.  Wherever  it  is  possible  there 
are  terraced  gardens  on  the  face  of  this  cliff.  On 
the  summit,  back  from  the  sea  everywhere  are 
orange  groves,  and  when  one  eats  this  fruit  for  the 
first  time  directly  from  the  branches,  its  flavour  is 
quite  new,  and  very  sweet  in  comparison  with  even 
the  best  oranges  which  have  been  shipped  from  a 
distance.  The  town  itself  is  not  large.  There  are 
many  relics  of  Tasso  here.  In  one  of  the  large 
hotels  is  shown  the  room  in  which  he  was  born, 
which  of  course  then  formed  part  of  a  small  house, 
or  at  least  so  the  tourist  is  given  to  understand. 
More  interesting  is  the  house  occupied  by  a  resi¬ 
dent  of  Sorrento,  and  which  once  belonged  to 
Tasso’s  sister.  The  garden,  with  its  vines  trained 
over  a  very  high  arbour,  beneath  which  a  cool  green 
twilight  ever  prevails,  is  believed  to  be  the  same 
as  in  the  time  of  the  poet,  and  there  are  some 

[  252  ] 


The  Marina  Grande,  Sorrento 


ttje  #ap  Neapolitans; 

interesting  old  inscriptions  on  stones  in  the  door¬ 
way. 

One  of  the  interesting  sights  of  the  town  is  the 
Marina  Grande,  a  fine  broad  beach,  with  a  village 
of  fishermen’s  houses,  built  in  solid  clusters.  This 
village  is  separated  from  the  Sorrento  landings  by 
a  rocky  point.  One  reaches  it  from  the  town  itself, 
descending  first  a  narrow  street,  then  a  winding 
flight  of  steps,  but  it  is  actually  far  more  separated 
than  this  would  indicate.  These  fishermen  speak  an 
entirely  different  dialect  from  that  of  Sorrento 
proper,  they  have  their  own  church,  their  customs 
are  different,  and  although  they  do  go  up  to  Sor¬ 
rento  to  make  purchases,  and  to  sell  their  fish,  they 
are  in  it,  but  not  of  it. 

Although  Sorrento  is  hot  in  the  middle  of  the 
day  during  the  summer,  there  is  always  a  fresh 
breeze  in  the  morning  and  up  to  ten  or  eleven 
o’clock.  This  breeze  springs  up  again  in  the  after¬ 
noon,  and  the  evenings  are  sometimes  almost  chilly. 
Sitting  out  on  one  of  the  numerous  little  terraces 
overhanging  the  sea,  gazing  far  down  at  the  water 
beneath,  the  vines  and  gardens  all  along  the  cliff, 
in  the  distance  at  one  side  Ischia  and  Procida 
visible,  if  the  day  is  not  too  hazy,  it  is  hard  to 
imagine  a  more  beautiful  and  peaceful  spot.  In 
the  evening  gradually  the  lights  of  Naples  oppo¬ 
site  begin  to  appear,  until  the  long  line  extending 
at  the  water’s  edge  from  the  city  out  to  Posillipo 
all  gleam  out,  with  the  revolving  light  of  Cape 

[  253  ] 


Naples!  anti 


Miseno  faintly  seen;  fishing  boats  with  their  bright 
torches  dart  in  and  out  close  to  the  shore,  perhaps 
a  boatload  of  people  passes,  some  singing,  others 
accompanying  with  mandolin  or  guitar,  and  it  all 
seems  like  some  enchanted  country,  some  fairy 
realm. 

Arrival  at  or  departure  from  Naples  by  steamer 
gives  of  course  the  best  possible  view  of  the  beauti¬ 
ful  bay.  If  the  night  be  moonlight  as  one  steams 
slowly  in  from  the  outer  sea,  catching  sight  first 
of  the  bright  light  of  the  Ischia  lighthouse,  and 
then  gradually  other  islands,  the  cape  of  Sorrento, 
all  bathed  in  the  wonderful  silver  radiance,  reflected 
in  an  almost  mirror-like  water,  nothing  more  beau¬ 
tiful  can  be  well  imagined.  Perhaps  Vesuvius  is 
kind  enough  to  display  some  fireworks  to  add  to 
the  effect,  or  the  great  mountain  may  rise  in  its 
majesty  peaceful  as  the  least  volcanic  of  peaks.  If 
one  arrive  at  this  hour,  the  steamer  will  anchor  in 
the  bay  not  far  from  the  shore,  and  no  one  will  be 
allowed  to  land  until  morning.  The  landing  must 
always  be  accomplished  by  means  of  small  rowboats 
or  the  company’s  tug,  solely  because  the  Neapolitan 
boatmen  will  not  consent  to  being  deprived  of  this 
source  of  revenue,  and  the  city  authorities  do  not 
dare  deprive  them  of  it  by  force.  Sometimes  pas¬ 
sengers  are  permitted  to  board  outgoing  steamers 
directly  from  the  fine  stone  docks,  but  often  the 
rowboats  must  again  be  resorted  to. 

One  never  leaves  Naples  by  steamer  at  the  hour 
[  254  ] 


tfje  #aj>  Neapolitans 


expected  if  there  is  much  cargo  or  many  passengers 
to  be  taken  on.  The  ship’s  officers,  especially  if 
they  be  Ligurians,  will  explain  with  many  con¬ 
temptuous  shrugs  and  glances  at  the  Neapolitans 
who  are  loading  the  cargo,  that  the  delay  is  solely 
due  to  them,  and  is  always  to  be  expected  in  N aples. 
“We  never  know  when  we  can  get  away  from 
here,”  they  may  continue.  “  Neapolitans  work  so 
slowly,  and  accomplish  half  as  much  as  a  Genoese.” 
Meanwhile  the  work  goes  on,  with  many  exclama¬ 
tions  in  Neapolitan  dialect,  many  arguments,  ex¬ 
postulations,  interjections,  sometimes  interrupted 
by  demands  for  more  money.  Little  boats,  if  it 
is  still  daylight,  come  out  alongside  of  the  ship, 
loaded  with  fruit  and  vegetables  for  sale,  or  if 
there  are  emigrants  aboard,  with  small  cane  chairs, 
wraps  and  other  articles  for  the  voyage.  Venders 
of  coral,  lace,  post  cards  and  all  kinds  of  trumpery, 
clamber  on  board.  Finally,  when  all  is  ready,  as 
the  great  ship  weighs  anchor,  and  slowly  steams  out 
of  the  bay,  one  may  hear  the  last  few  notes,  from 
some  boatload  of  musicians,  of  one  of  the  popular 
Neapolitan  folk  songs,  probably  the  familiar  Santa 
Lucia,  with  the  soft  accompaniment  of  guitars  and 
mandolins.  He  gazes  back  upon  the  town,  the  high 
hills  half  encircling  the  bay,  and  firmly  resolves 
to  see  Naples  again  before  dying. 


[  255  ] 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


A  FTER  leaving  Rome  and  its  outskirts  behind, 
f\  on  the  way  to  Perugia,  the  railroad  runs 
through  a  mountainous  country,  most  at¬ 
tractive,  and  with  fine  views  on  both  sides.  All  this 
section  was  once  a  part  of  the  Papal  States,  and 
a  retired  army  officer  who  was  in  our  compartment, 
and  who  said  he  had  marched  all  over  this  region, 
told  us  many  interesting  things  about  its  former 
condition,  the  loneliness  of  the  almost  deserted 
roads,  the  lack  of  schools,  etc.  At  that  time  there 
was  but  one  school  of  agriculture  in  all  Italy,  and 
that  the  still  existing  one  connected  with  the  Uni¬ 
versity  of  Pisa. 

Two  stations  beyond  Assisi  is  Perugia.  As  we 
came  out  of  the  little  station  there  were  but  a 
couple  of  cabs  in  sight;  instead  there  stood  two 
electric  trams,  each  with  a  compartment  in  the 
middle  for  luggage.  One  of  these  was  for  the 
general  public,  the  other  run  instead  of  the  cus¬ 
tomary  omnibus,  by  the  best  hotel  of  the  town. 
Up,  up,  up,  with  many  windings  and  doublings  we 
went,  for  the  station  is  at  the  foot  of  the  high 
hill  upon  which  the  town  is  built.  In  fact  there  is 
a  little  village  of  a  different  name,  consisting  of  a 
church  and  a  few  houses,  built  up  around  the  rail- 

f  256  ] 


gtesisi 


way  station.  The  first  buildings  of  the  actual  town 
of  Perugia  which  come  in  sight  are  the  barracks, 
a  church  and  a  hospital.  Then  more  hill  climbing, 
which  makes  one  glad  that  the  days  when  passen¬ 
gers  and  luggage  were  of  necessity  hauled  up  this 
steep  ascent  by  horses  alone  are  over,  and  the  tram 
stopped  at  a  narrow  old  city  gate  for  the  usual 
brief  formalities  of  the  dazio.  Then  we  were  off 
again,  still  up,  until  after  a  few  more  turns  we  came 
out  upon  the  top  of  the  hill,  in  front  of  the  first  of 
the  hotels.  From  here  there  is  a  magnificent  view. 
Nothing  in  front  of  one  but  the  low  parapet  bound¬ 
ing  the  sidewalk  on  the  opposite  side,  with  the  road 
some  feet  below  it,  after  one  of  the  numerous  turns, 
and  still  further  down  the  lower  portion  of  the 
town,  but  off  beyond  an  exquisite  panorama  of 
mountains  and  valleys,  in  ever-changing  colours 
and  tones.  Over  all  arches  the  deep  blue  Italian 
sky,  so  rarely  clouded,  the  air  is  bracing  and  pure. 

Perugia  is  one  of  the  most  fascinating  of  towns, 
far  more  so  than  Siena  to  my  mind.  Here  are  the 
same  narrow  streets,  descending  abruptly,  the  same 
stone  arches  overhead,  connecting  the  old  houses, 
but  the  viewT  out  over  the  country  is  more  beautiful, 
and  there  are  more  picturesque  buildings.  The 
Corso  Vanucci,  named  for  Perugia’s  most  famous 
citizen,  the  artist  Perugino,  whose  family  name  was 
Vanucci,  is  the  chief  street  of  the  city.  Here  are 
several  hotels,  and  the  best  shops.  The  first  object 
of  interest  is  the  Collegio  del  Cambio,  the  old 

[  257  ] 


$3erugta 


Chamber  of  Commerce,  now  merely  a  show  place. 
Tickets  must  be  purchased  in  a  shop  near  by,  and 
visitors  are  then  admitted  to  a  room  on  the  street 
level,  containing  some  finely  carved  old  seats,  and  a 
high  wainscoting  of  time-blackened  wood.  This 
is  but  an  ante-room.  Out  of  it  is  the  main  room, 
not  very  large,  with  beautifully  carved  wainscoting 
and  seats  like  choir  stalls  on  two  sides.  The  ceiling 
and  walls  are  entirely  covered  with  splendid  fres¬ 
coes  by  Perugino,  some  religious  in  subject,  others 
representing  famous  old  Romans  and  Greeks, 
Socrates,  Pericles,  Trajan,  Scipio,  and  others,  with 
the  prophets  and  sybils  as  well.  On  the  ceiling  are 
tire  seven  planets,  and  rich  ornamentations.  Out 
of  this  gem  of  a  room  where  one  could  spend  much 
time  studying  the  frescoes,  is  the  chapel,  formerly 
used  by  the  merchants  who  assembled  here.  It,  too, 
is  covered  with  frescoes  by  another  artist,  Gianni- 
cola  Manni,  and  has  a  fine  altar-piece. 

Close  beside  this  building  is  the  Municipio ,  or 
Public  Palace,  a  large  building,  very  picturesque, 
and  built  in  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries. 
Here  is  the  picture  gallery,  with  an  interesting 
collection  of  old  paintings  of  the  Umbrian  school, 
more  frescoed  rooms,  and  some  of  Perugino’s  best 
works,  as  well  as  several  by  his  famous  pupil, 
Raphael.  Opposite  the  Municipio,  in  a  small 
square,  is  a  large  old  fountain  decorated  with  bas- 
reliefs  by  the  well-known  Pisanos  and  Arnolfo  di 
Cambio.  Back  of  it  is  one  side  of  the  cathedral; 

[  258  ] 


The  Arch  of  Augustus,  Perugia 


Assisi 


this  is  a  fine  old  Gothic  edifice  with  a  few  good 
pictures,  but  not  of  great  interest.  Not  f ar  away  is 
the  curiously  named  Maesta  delle  Volta — literally 
majesty  of  the  arches — several  lofty  stone  arches, 
all  that  remains  of  what  was  once  the  palace  of  the 
Podesta  or  ruler  of  the  city,  appointed  by  the  peo¬ 
ple,  as  in  Florence  in  the  old  days.  Then  there  is 
the  Roman  arch  with  Etruscan  foundations,  the 
Arch  of  Augustus,  for  the  Roman  city  stood  on  the 
site  of  the  present  old  town.  Not  far  from  this  is 
the  university,  in  which  is  a  museum  of  Etruscan 
and  Roman  antiquities.  Down  a  steep,  narrow 
street,  the  Via  Deliziosa — these  old  streets  often 
have  charming  names  which  their  appearance 
hardly  justifies — a  tablet  proclaims  the  house  of 
Perugino,  and  not  far  from  the  Palazzo  Publico 
is  the  mediaeval  Tower  of  the  Scirri.  On  a  street 
parallel  with  the  Corso  is  the  old  Palace  of  the  Cap¬ 
tain  of  the  People,  later  the  Palace  of  the  Podesta, 
and  the  old  university,  both  now  occupied  by  the 
Tribunal.  The  piazza  into  which  the  street 
broadens  is  built  upon  solid  masonry,  part  of  which 
was  the  old  Etruscan  wall  formerly  surrounding 
the  city. 

There  are  numerous  churches  to  visit,  but  the  one 
of  greatest  interest  is  the  church  of  San  Pietro  di 
Cassinensi,  outside  the  city  gate  of  San  Pietro. 
The  interior  is  very  beautiful,  and  covered  with 
frescoes  and  paintings  of  the  seventeenth  century 
school  of  Umbria.  The  choir  has  wonderfully 

[  259  ] 


carved  stalls,  and  a  tabernacle,  and  the  sacristan 
will  take  you  through  a  scarcely  visible  door  in  the 
rear  of  the  choir,  out  upon  a  balcony,  from  which 
there  is  a  magnificent  view  of  the  country,  the  hill 
descending  sharply  at  the  back  of  the  church,  so 
there  is  nothing  to  obstruct  this  view.  Eighteen 
antique  marble  and  granite  pillars  support  the  side 
walls  of  the  nave.  On  one  of  these  is  a  faint, 
sketchy  something  which  you  will  be  told  is  the 
portrait  of  a  saint,  made  by  supernatural  agency. 
The  sacristan  told  me  the  name,  quite  new  to  me, 
and  unfortunately  I  have  forgotten  it.  This  is  an 
injustice  to  the  saint,  a  woman,  for  she  rendered  a 
great  service  to  the  church.  When  these  pillars 
were  being  placed,  the  ropes  around  this  particular 
one  slipped,  and  it  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground 
and  been  broken  had  not  the  kind  saint  promptly 
intervened,  and  herself,  alone  and  unaided,  sup¬ 
ported  the  pillar,  midway  on  its  downward  course, 
until  the  ropes  could  be  readjusted  and  the  pillar 
safely  set  in  place.  After  this  was  done,  her  pic¬ 
ture  was  found  imprinted  upon  the  surface. 

It  is  possible  to  see  all  the  sights  of  Assisi  and 
return  on  the  same  day  to  Perugia  if  one  goes  by 
train,  and  despite  the  undoubted  attractions  of  the 
drive  there  in  good  weather,  this  was  the  way  I 
chose.  W e  were  having  in  April  a  return  to  winter 
that  year.  Cold  rain-storms,  with  very  high  winds, 
and  interspersed  with  hail  made  driving  scarcely 
pleasant. 


[  260  ] 


Assist 


The  distance  by  rail  is  about  sixteen  miles,  and 
the  trains  take  but  little  over  an  hour  for  the  jour¬ 
ney!  Assisi,  too,  is  built  on  a  hill,  as  so  many  of 
the  old  towns  were  for  safety  from  attack,  and  the 
railway  lies  in  the  valley  below.  This  towrn  is  the 
home  not  only  of  St.  Francis,  but  also  that  of  St. 
Clara,  two  native  saints  for  this  one  small  town. 
Across  the  railroad  track  is  the  church  of  St.  Mary 
of  the  Angels,  which  is  usually  the  first  object  of 
interest  visited  before  ascending  the  hill  to  the 
actual  town.  It  is  very  new  looking,  restored  in 
the  last  century,  and  the  church  itself  contains  lit¬ 
tle  of  interest  except  three  bas-reliefs  by  Andrea 
della  Robbia,  and  the  curious  structure  in  the 
centre,  very  noticeable  as  soon  as  one  enters.  This 
is  directly  beneath  the  dome,  a  small  church  of 
rough  stone,  quite  separate  from  the  surrounding 
church,  with  outside  walls,  roof,  and  all  complete. 
It  is  the  original  chapel  of  St.  Francis,  which  was 
spared  when  the  former  church  about  it  was 
destroyed  by  fire.  It  contains  a  modern  fresco 
representing  the  vision  of  St.  Francis.  A  Fran¬ 
ciscan  monk  will  come  from  the  adjoining  convent 
to  show  visitors  around,  and  before  summoning  him 
the  sacristan  or  a  little  boy,  whichever  is  first 
encountered,  will  ask  what  language  the  party 
wishes  their  guide  to  speak.  Several  of  these 
monks  speak  English  very  well.  The  sacristy,  not 
particularly  interesting,  is  shown,  a  small  chapel, 
then  on  a  corridor  at  the  side,  leading  into  the  con- 

[  261  ] 


$erugta 


vent  the  cell  in  which  St.  Francis  died,  and  opening 
from  the  corridor,  the  little  garden  where  flourish 
the  Thornless  Roses.  When  I  was  there  it  was 
too  early  in  the  season  for  roses  to  be  in  blossom, 
but  the  monk  offered  me  a  couple  of  leaves,  and  I 
saw  no  thorns.  The  monk,  acting  as  guide  accepts 
whatever  fee  is  offered,  “for  the  poor  of  the 
parish,”  of  whom  doubtless  there  are  many  in  this 
little  mountain  village. 

Then,  unless  desirous  of  a  long  climb,  one  takes 
a  cab  for  the  churches  and  convent  of  St.  Francis. 
A  wall  with  enormous  arches  on  the  side  of  the  hill 
comes  in  sight  almost  immediately,  but  the  church 
is  only  reached  after  many  turns,  as  the  cab  winds 
up  the  steep  road.  Entering  a  court,  long  covered 
porticoes  extend  on  either  side  from  the  church  in 
the  rear  towards  the  entrance.  This  first  church  is 
low  and  dark,  though  large,  and  unless  it  is  a  bright 
day,  it  is  very  difficult  to  see  the  wonderful  frescoes 
by  Giotto  at  all  satisfactorily.  Two  rows  of  con¬ 
necting  chapels,  raised  several  feet  above  the  main 
pavement,  extend  down  both  sides  of  the  church. 
Choir  and  high  altar  are  directly  beneath  a  vaulted 
ceiling,  on  whose  four  converging  wall  spaces  are 
the  four  celebrated  frescoes  by  Giotto,  representing 
Poverty,  Chastitjr,  and  Obedience,  the  three  vows 
taken  by  the  brothers  of  the  order  founded  by  St. 
Francis,  and  the  apotheosis  of  the  saint.  There 
are  more  frescoes  by  Giotto,  and  a  Virgin  and  Child 
by  Cimabue  in  other  parts  of  the  church,  as  well  as 

[  262  ] 


some  interesting  old  tombs.  The  main  altar  is 
erected  directly  over  the  spot  where  St.  Francis 
is  buried,  and  there  is  a  daily  service  here  at  noon 
by  the  Franciscan  monks,  who  sing  very  well.  In 
the  adjoining  sacristy  are  relics  of  St.  Francis, 
crucifixes  used  by  him,  some  of  his  garments,  a 
rude  pair  of  slippers  worn  by  him,  “  after  he 
received  the  Stigmata.  Previous  to  this  he  always 
went  barefoot,  but  after  receiving  the  Stigmata 
his  feet  pained  him  so  much  at  times  that  he  was 
forced  to  wear  these  in  order  that  he  might  walk,” 
the  monk  who  shows  them  will  explain.  They  also 
show  a  stout  staff  upon  which  he  used  to  lean. 

A  stairway  at  the  side  conducts  one  to  the  upper 
church,  covering  the  same  space  as  the  lower  one, 
hut  very  lofty.  It  is  entirely  covered  with  beauti¬ 
ful  old  frescoes,  some  of  biblical  subjects,  by  Cima- 
bue  and  others,  and  twenty-eight  scenes  from  the 
life  of  St.  Francis,  believed  to  he  the  work  of 
Giotto.  Down  under  the  first  church,  and  reached 
by  a  double  flight  of  steps,  is  the  third  church,  or 
crypt.  It  is  small,  extends  beneath  the  choir  and 
altar  of  the  first  church,  and  contains  in  a  stone 
sarcophagus  the  body  of  St.  Francis,  which  appears 
to  have  been  lost,  and  only  rediscovered  in  1818, 
and  two  colossal  statues  of  Popes  Pius  VII. 
and  IX. 

From  the  church  a  crooked  little  street,  the  chief 
one  of  the  town,  passes  a  couple  of  small  hotels,  a 
few  little  shops,  and  comes  out  into  the  Piazza  Vit- 

[  263  ] 


iPerugta 

torio  Emanuele,  where  is  the  former  Temple  of 
Minerva,  with  a  beautiful  portico  supported  by  six 
perfectly  preserved  Corinthian  pillars.  Not  far 
away  is  the  “New  Church,”  built  where  stood  the 
house  in  which  the  saint  was  born.  Then,  slightly 
higher,  is  the  thirteenth  century  cathedral,  unfor¬ 
tunately  modernized,  which  means  ruined  from  an 
artistic  standpoint.  Any  one  of  several  little 
crooked  streets  will  take  one  to  the  Piazza  of  Santa 
Clara,  where  stands  the  church  of  that  name.  The 
building  itself  is  very  hare,  with  but  one  or  two 
paintings  of  no  particular  interest,  but  by  hunting 
up  the  sacristan  one  may  see  the  two  relics  upon 
which  the  fame  of  the  church  rests.  The  sacristan 
takes  would-be  visitors  to  a  side  chapel,  faintly 
lighted  by  blue  glass  windows,  and  rings  a  bell  in 
a  side  wall  which  communicates  with  the  adjoining 
convent  of  the  nuns  of  St.  Clara,  founded  by  St. 
Clara  herself.  In  this  chapel  is  a  grill,  and  pres¬ 
ently  a  sliding  panel  back  of  this  grill  is  pushed 
back,  revealing  a  tiny  chapel,  or  rather  a  niche.  A 
nun  is  thus  disclosed  to  view,  lighting  several  tapers, 
and  in  the  background  is  a  kind  of  sarcophagus. 
The  nun  does  not  speak,  but  for  a  coin  pushes 
forward  on  the  waist-high  ledge  in  front  of  the 
grill  a  short  printed  history  of  St.  Agnes,  the  sis¬ 
ter  of  St.  Clara,  and  from  this  you  learn  that  the 
sarcophagus  contains  St.  Agnes’s  head.  Then 
escorted  by  the  sacristan,  you  descend  by  a  stair¬ 
way  in  the  centre  of  the  church  to  the  crypt,  the 

[  264  ] 


The  Portico  o£  the  Temple  of  Minerva,  Assisi 


nun  having  closed  the  grill  when,  in  her  opinion, 
you  have  gazed  long  enough  at  the  relic. 

In  the  very  back  of  this  crypt,  directly  under  the 
main  altar,  is  a  much  larger,  more  elaborate  grill, 
reaching  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling,  and  behind 
this  the  nun  once  more  appears,  lighting  a  large 
number  of  tapers.  These  disclose  a  tomb,  the  upper 
portion  of  which  has  glass  sides,  and  within  is  seen 
the  recumbent  form  of  a  woman,  the  ends  of  her 
feet  and  her  face  uncovered,  and  protruding  from 
her  nun’s  garments.  These  portions  of  her  body 
are  quite  black.  The  nun  says  never  a  word,  but 
the  sacristan  informs  you  that  the  body  was  acci¬ 
dentally  discovered,  buried  under  the  high  altar, 
and  was  thereupon  placed  in  this  sarcophagus  not 
a  century  ago.  The  body  was  perfectly  preserved, 
but  petrified,  and  turned  to  this  dark,  almost  black 
hue.  All  of  it  is  really  the  actual  body  of  the  saint, 
he  goes  on,  except  the  end  of  the  nose,  which  had 
crumbled  away,  so  they  were  obliged  to  restore  it. 
The  nun  pushes  another  little  bit  of  paper  towards 
you,  for  a  souvenir.  Printed  upon  this  is  a  repre¬ 
sentation  of  the  tomb,  “  The  true  effigy  of  the  body 
of  St.  Clara  of  Assisi,  virgin  and  founder  of  the 
‘  Poor  Ladies,’  as  it  is  actually  seen  in  the  church 
of  her  name  in  the  said  city.” 


[  265  ] 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  journey  from  Perugia  to  Terontola, 
where  one  changes  for  the  direct  line  for 
Florence  and  the  north,  is  through  a  pretty, 
mountainous  country,  and  past  the  charming  Lake 
Trasimeno,  which  the  railway  skirts  for  some  dis¬ 
tance.  After  leaving  Florence,  the  road  runs  quite 
close  to  the  Apennines,  and  after  Pistoia  begins  the 
ascent.  Up,  up  the  train  creeps,  through  a  wild 
region,  with  great  rocky  mountain  masses  rising 
on  either  hand,  with  glimpses  of  rocky  gorges,  and 
at  the  proper  season  of  mountain  streams,  which 
will  quite  disappear  in  the  summertime.  At  last 
the  highest  point  is  reached,  after  passing  through 
many  tunnels,  and  near  Pracchia,  the  road  is  on  top 
of  the  watershed,  where  the  slopes  to  the  Adriatic 
and  to  the  Mediterranean  divide.  More  tunnels 
follow,  and  the  road  descends  again,  reaching  the 
picturesque  valley  of  the  Reno  River,  and  soon 
after  runs  into  the  station  at  Bologna,  which  lies 
on  a  plain. 

Leaving  the  station,  and  passing  within  the  city 
walls,  probably  the  first  thing  that  will  be  noticed 
by  the  stranger  is  that  almost  all  the  buildings  on 
both  sides  of  the  street  have  porticoes  extending 

[  266  ] 


(Quaint  #lb  Cities* 


over  the  sidewalks,  making  it  possible  to  walk  for  a 
long  distance,  when  the  weather  is  rainy,  without 
an  umbrella.  This  city  has  its  trams,  but  they  are 
primitive,  and  drawn  by  horses.  The  street  run¬ 
ning  to  the  heart  of  the  town  where  are  most  of  the 
hotels,  passes  the  cathedral,  which  is  uninteresting, 
hardly  repaying  a  visit.  At  one  end  of  this  street, 
the  Via  Indipendenza,  is  the  Piazza  Nettuno,  and 
adjoining  it  the  Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele,  both 
very  picturesque.  In  the  centre  of  the  former  is 
the  huge  fountain  of  Neptune,  surrounded  by  four 
sirens,  the  work  of  the  famous  sculptor  Giambo¬ 
logna.  Although  this  sculptor  was  not,  as  his  name 
might  seem  to  indicate,  a  native  of  Bologna,  but  of 
Boulogne,  France,  he  lived  and  did  his  best  work 
in  Italy.  The  long  building  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Government  extends  along  one  side  of  both  of  these 
squares,  its  facade  adorned  with  a  statue  of  the 
Virgin.  These  people  of  the  middle  ages  seemed 
alwa3rs  to  mingle  government  and  religion  out¬ 
wardly,  even  if  it  would  be  hard  to  pretend  that 
they  did  so  in  reality. 

Inside  this  building  there  are  the  usual  show¬ 
rooms,  decorated  with  frescoes,  and  the  Hall  of 
Hercules,  with  a  colossal  statue  of  this  hero.  Oppo¬ 
site  is  the  old  Palace  of  the  Podesta,  now  used  as 
the  seat  of  the  city  government,  and  renowned  for 
having  served  as  a  prison  for  the  poet-king  Enzio, 
son  of  the  Emperor  Frederick  II.,  who  was  made 
prisoner  in  1249,  and  kept  in  Bologna  until  his 

[  267  ] 


QLfyvtt  (Quaint 


death.  The  Bentivoglio  family  claim  to  be  his 
descendants,  and  their  sixteenth  century  palace 
replacing  the  former  one  destroyed  by  Pope  Julius 
II.  is  on  the  Via  delle  Belle  Arti. 

On  another  side  of  the  Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele 
is  the  old  church  of  San  Petronio,  and  not  far  away 
that  of  San  Domenico,  both  of  which  are  interest¬ 
ing  to  visit,  and  contain  paintings  and  statuary. 
But  by  far  the  most  interesting  church,  or  I  should 
say  group  of  churches,  for  there  are  seven,  all  under 
the  same  roof,  and  all  known  by  the  same  name  in 
general,  although  they  have  their  distinct  individual 
ones  as  well,  is  the  San  Stefano.  It  is  built  upon 
the  site  of  an  ancient  temple  of  Isis.  The  first,  or 
main  church,  is  not  in  any  way  remarkable,  and  was 
built  in  the  seventeenth  century.  Opening  out  of 
this  is  the  church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  which, 
although  restored,  dates  from  before  the  year  1000. 
It  is  a  rotunda,  with  seven  antique  columns,  inter¬ 
spersed  with  seven  of  bricks,  placed  there  to 
strengthen  the  old  ones,  and  help  support  the  roof. 
In  the  centre  of  the  church  is  a  twelfth  century 
tomb  of  St.  Petronius,  built  after  the  Holy  Sepul¬ 
chre  at  Jerusalem.  Beyond  this  is  the  seventh 
church,  dark  and  gloomy,  all  of  stone.  Behind  the 
second  church  is  a  court  and  colonnade  dating 
from  the  eleventh  century,  curiously  called  the 
Atrium  of  Pilate.  Here  are  baptismal  fonts,  and 
two  more  churches,  then  one  enters  the  old  cloister 
of  the  Celestines,  and  the  other  two  churches,  hardly 

[  268  ] 


Cities 


more  than  chapels.  One  of  them  is  a  crypt,  be¬ 
neath  the  altar  of  the  first  church.  This  portion  of 
the  building  is  almost  all  of  the  eleventh  century. 

Continuing  down  the  Via  San  Stefano,  one 
comes  to  the  beautiful  little  building,  the  Chamber 
of  Commerce.  Two  arches  support  a  loggia  across 
the  front,  above  this  are  medallions,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  second  story,  over  the  loggia,  is  an 
ornate  and  very  small  semicircular  balcony,  with 
an  equally  ornate  canopy  top.  Opposite  this  build¬ 
ing  are  Bologna’s  two  leaning  towers,  the  Torre 
Asinelli  is  nearly  twice  as  tall  as  Pisa’s  noted 
example  of  this  peculiar  style  of  structure;  the 
second,  the  Torre  Garisenda,  almost  as  tall,  lacking 
but  five  metres,  but  the  incline  is  not  nearly  so 
great.  They  lean  towards  each  other  in  a  friendly 
manner,  and  were  both  built  early  in  the  twelfth 
century.  They  do  not  compare  in  beauty  with  their 
Pisan  rival,  for  they  are  plain  structures  of  brick, 
very  slender,  with  no  ornamental  galleries  sur¬ 
rounding  them,  nor  can  they  be  ascended,  unless 
by  a  steeple  climber.  They  say  a  rash  youth  did 
once  climb  the  taller  one  by  means  of  the  lightning 
rod,  since  which  time  such  feats  have  been  pro¬ 
hibited  by  law. 

There  is  the  old  university  to  be  seen,  Rossini’s 
house,  the  house  of  Carducci,  whose  recent  death 
robbed  Italy  of  her  greatest  modern  poet,  and  there 
are  many  other  churches  which  some  may  care  to 
visit,  besides  the  excursion  to  the  church  of  the 

[  269  ] 


®f)ree  <©uatnt 


Madonna  of  St.  Luke,  on  a  mountain  southwest 
of  the  town,  reached  by  a  steam  tram  or  by  car¬ 
riage.  People  go  to  this  church  for  the  sake  of  the 
beautiful  view. 

Bologna  has  also  a  museum  of  antiquities,  and  a 
very  interesting  picture  gallery.  In  this  latter  are 
Raphael’s  familiar  “St.  Cecilia,”  many  paintings  by 
Guido  Reni,  Francia,  the  three  Carracci,  and  other 
artists  of  the  school  of  Bologna.  Napoleon  showed 
his  appreciation  of  this  gallery  of  paintings  in  his 
own  peculiar  way,  by  sending  sixty  of  its  choicest 
canvases  to  Paris.  Eventually,  after  his  power  was 
broken,  and  France  made  to  disgorge  some  of  her 
stolen  plunder,  thirty-seven  of  these  were  restored 
to  Bologna,  the  others  remain.  In  this  gallery  is  a 
painting  representing  the  Virgin  and  saints  by 
Perugino,  which  is  exactly  like  one  by  the  same 
artist  which  I  had  seen  elsewhere,  but  for  the 
moment  I  could  not  recall  where.  The  polite  cus¬ 
todian  who  had  been  pointing  out  various  pictures 
to  those  who  wished  his  information,  came  to  my 
assistance,  telling  me  the  very  room  in  the  Floren¬ 
tine  gallery  where  the  replica  hangs.  I  was  amazed 
until  he  told  me  that  he  had  been  custodian  in  that 
gallery  for  some  time,  but  had  returned  to  his 
native  Bologna,  which  he  much  preferred  for  many 
reasons.  He  said  that  the  work  in  Florence  was 
much  harder,  for  not  only  were  the  hours  longer — 
the  galleries  in  Florence  are  open  for  the  same 
length  of  time  on  Sundays  as  on  week  days,  while 

[  270  ] 


<^lb  Cittcs 


in  most  towns  they  are  open  for  but  two  or  three 
hours  on  Sundays  and  holidays — and  then,  he  said, 
the  art  students  and  copyists  are  such  a  bother, 
always  wanting  something. 

It  is  about  three  hours  by  rail  from  Bologna  to 
Ravenna— that  wonderful  old  city,  one  of  the 
oldest  in  Italy,  and  which  is  less  visited  by  tourists 
than  many  of  not  as  great  interest.  Possibly  this 
is  because  it  is  somewhat  off  the  beaten  track,  the 
trains  are  slow,  and  it  is  on  a  branch  line  ending  at 
Rimini,  another  old  town,  and  a  popular  and  fash¬ 
ionable  summer  seaside  resort  for  Italians. 

Ravenna  is  the  sleepiest  of  towns.  The  station, 
as  usual  in  the  smaller  cities  of  Italy,  is  outside  the 
town  proper,  and  travellers  take  a  cab  or  hotel 
omnibus,  and  jog  along  a  broad,  unmodern  street. 
There  is  very  little  regularity  of  plan.  Small 
grass-grown  streets  and  alleys  turn  off  in  all  direc¬ 
tions  from  the  Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele,  in  the 
heart  of  the  town.  But  few  people  are  to  be  seen 
on  these  streets,  or  even  on  the  piazza  itself.  The 
principal  caffes  look  lonely  and  deserted,  even  at 
the  popular  hours,  and  everywhere  are  old,  crum¬ 
bling  buildings.  On  this  piazza  is  the  Palazzo 
Municipio,  and  before  it  two  tall  granite  columns, 
supporting  statues  of  Saints  Apollinare  and 
Vitale,  the  former  saint  a  disciple  of  St.  Peter, 
introduced  Christianity  to  the  inhabitants  of 
Ravenna,  the  other  was  martyred  in  this  town.  At 
one  side  is  a  portico  of  eight  granite  columns  which 

[271  ] 


W^xtt  Quaint 


is  said  to  be  the  remains  of  a  temple  of  Hercules 
of  the  time  of  Theodoric  the  Goth,  who  resided  in 
Ravenna  in  the  early  part  of  the  sixth  century. 

So  much  in  Ravenna  dates  from  the  sixth  cen¬ 
tury,  that  anything  later  seems  positively  modern. 
Thus  the  church  of  San  Vitale,  which  it  is  thought 
may  have  served  as  a  model  for  Charlemagne  in  the 
construction  of  the  cathedral  at  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
was  consecrated  in  547.  It  is  built  on  the  supposed 
site  of  San  Vitale’s  martyrdom.  It  is  now  some 
feet  below  the  street  level.  There  is  an  ancient 
campanile,  ancient  both  in  appearance  and  actual¬ 
ity,  and  an  old  cloister  and  garden,  but  the  church 
itself  is  the  chief  object  of  interest  in  the  group. 
Of  late  years  the  modern  additions  and  so-called 
improvements  have  been  removed,  and  although  the 
mosaics  are  restored,  restorations  are  made  in  keep¬ 
ing  with  the  age.  The  rows  of  marble  pillars  have 
exquisitely  carved  capitals.  Back  of  the  church  is 
the  mausoleum  of  the  Exarch  Isaac,  who  died  in 
641,  but  his  sarcophagus  has  been  removed  to  the 
museum. 

The  cathedral  is  very  modern  indeed  for 
Ravenna,  dating  from  the  first  half  of  the  eigh¬ 
teenth  century,  but  it  was  built  to  replace  an  earlier 
one  of  the  fourth  century,  and  of  this  latter  remain 
the  round  campanile  and  the  crypt.  There  is  not 
a  great  deal  to  be  seen  in  the  cathedral,  some  old 
sarcophagi,  and  an  ivory  throne  which  belonged 
to  the  sixth  century  archbishop,  St.  Maximien. 

[  272  ] 


<^lb  Cities 


The  bells  of  the  venerable  campanile  are  now 
allowed  to  be  rung  on  rare  holidays  only,  for  after 
the  fall  of  the  Campanile  of  Venice,  and  the  conse¬ 
quent  wave  of  alarm  as  to  the  safety  of  notable  old 
buildings  which  swept  over  Italy,  this  tower  was 
carefully  examined,  and  it  was  decided  that  the 
vibration  of  the  bells  if  too  often  rung  might  cause 
its  fall.  Close  to  the  campanile  is  the  Baptistery  of 
the  Orthodox,  with  remarkable  fifth  century 
mosaics,  the  oldest  in  Ravenna,  representing  the 
baptism  of  Christ.  These  ancient  mosaics  are  as 
remarkable  for  the  extraordinary  anatomy  of  the 
figures  as  for  the  wonderful  brilliancy  of  the 
colouring,  the  freshness  of  the  gold  used. 

Another  remarkable  old  church  is  that  of  San 
Apollinare  Nuovo,  a  basilica  built  by  the  Emperor 
Theodoric  to  serve  as  the  Aryan  cathedral  very 
early  in  the  sixth  century,  although  a  portion  of 
the  interior  was  unfortunately  remodelled  in  the 
sixteenth  century.  Here  are  more  fine  mosaics, 
and  twenty-four  marble  columns  brought  from 
Constantinople.  Spirito  Santo  is  another  basilica 
erected  by  the  same  emperor  for  the  Aryans,  and 
there  is  also  their  basilica,  now  a  consecrated 
Roman  Catholic  church. 

Not  far  from  the  church  of  San  Apollinare  are 
some  ruined  vestiges  of  Theodoric’s  palace,  the 
foundations  of  two  round  towers,  a  bit  of  wall 
pierced  by  a  doorway,  etc.  His  tomb  is  outside  the 
city  gates,  a  mausoleum  believed  to  have  been  built 

[  273] 


tt  Quaint 


by  the  emperor  himself.  It  is  a  two-storied 
rotunda,  the  first  story  surrounded  by  a  circular 
gallery,  the  foundations  under  water,  which  sur¬ 
rounds  them  like  a  moat.  Around  this  tomb  is  a 
charming  garden,  with  flowers  blooming,  and  the 
effect  is  most  attractive. 

The  palace  where  Byron  lived  in  Ravenna  is  now 
the  Hotel  Byron.  Not  far  from  here  is  the  tomb 
of  Dante,  with  a  bas-relief  of  the  poet,  and  a  long 
Latin  epitaph,  and  near  this  tomb  is  another,  rather 
more  imposing,  that  of  Braccioforte.  Ravenna  has 
its  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts,  and  close  to  this, 
in  a  former  convent,  a  museum  of  antiquities  and 
a  library  of  old  manuscripts.  The  drive,  nearly 
three  miles  out  into  the  country,  to  the  old 
church  of  San  Apollinare  in  Classe  is  well  worth 
taking.  From  here  one  may  continue  to  the  Pineta, 
the  forest  of  pines  made  famous  by  Dante  and 
Boccaccio. 

The  church  stands  in  a  great  open  space,  with 
but  few  houses  near.  Service  is  very  rarely  held  in 
it,  and  then  only  on  some  especial  holiday,  but  a 
custodian  lives  here,  and  is  always  ready  to  show 
it.  It  is  very  large,  the  largest  of  all  the  Ravenna 
basilicae,  with  three  naves  divided  by  venerable 
pillars,  and  with  a  round  campanile.  Here  are 
more  mosaics,  and  eighteenth  century  portraits 
of  archbishops.  The  whole  effect  is  one  of  loneli¬ 
ness,  of  desertion.  The  country  around  is  so  flat 
that  it  can  be  seen  for  some  distance,  and  another 

[  274] 


jHE5g*r 


Tomb  of  Theodoric,  Ravenna 


<Z^lb  Cities! 


smaller  and  less  important  church  which  I  did  not 
visit,  rises  solitary  at  some  distance  to  the  left, 
and  on  quite  another  road,  as  one  drives  out  from 
Ravenna. 

It  is  about  four  hours  by  rail  from  Ravenna  to 
Padua,  passing  through  old  Ferrara,  which  I  did 
not  visit,  interesting  although  it  doubtless  is. 

Leaving  the  station  at  this  city,  one  comes  out 
upon  a  wide  and  unpaved  road.  This  road  turns 
into  a  kind  of  boulevard,  then  crosses  a  canal,  passes 
the  city  gate,  and  a  quaint  old  building,  apparently 
once  a  fortress,  standing  close  to  this  canal,  which 
intersects  the  city.  Following  the  tram,  here,  as  in 
Bologna,  drawn  by  horses,  one  comes  to  the  cele¬ 
brated  university  founded  in  1222,  and  occupying 
a  building  known  as  “II  Ho”  the  Ox,  from  a  wine¬ 
shop  of  that  name,  which  formerly  stood  near  by. 
Close  to  the  university  are  the  two  squares,  the 
Piazza  dei  Frutti  (of  fruits)  and  the  Piazza  dell’ 
Erbe  (herbs),  separated  by  the  building  called  the 
S alone,  from  a  great  arched  hallway  of  wood,  dat¬ 
ing  from  the  fifteenth  century,  and  which  building 
contains  more  than  three  hundred  allegorical  fres¬ 
coes.  All  around  the  Piazza  dell’  Erbe  of  a  morn¬ 
ing  are  set  up  market  booths,  with  modern  wares, 
curiously  contrasting  with  the  background  of 
mediaeval  buildings.  In  this  old  section  of  the  city 
the  streets  are  narrow  and  turn  off  at  unexpected 
angles,  but  there  is  a  modern  section,  with  broad 
streets,  trees  planted  along  them,  and  new  plas- 

[  275  ] 


<©umnt 


tered  palazzi  in  the  popular  pale  yellow  colour,  with 
green  blinds.  Padua  has  also  a  noted  caffe ,  the 
Pedrocchi,  near  the  university.  There  are  lofty, 
finely  decorated  rooms,  but  the  chief  place  where 
staid  citizens,  university  students,  army  officers,  or 
family  parties  congregate  is  outside  on  a  broad 
portico,  supported  by  many  pillars,  and  running 
around  three  sides  of  a  square.  Here  in  sum¬ 
mer  or  winter  the  tables  fill  up  rapidly  of  an  even¬ 
ing.  Not  far  away  is  the  house  in  which  Dante 
lived. 

The  chief  sight  for  many  visitors  is  the  church  of 
Padua’s  native  saint,  St.  Anthony.  The  church  is 
a  very  large  and  ugly  edifice,  and  contains  his  tomb. 
On  the  large  piazza  in  front  is  a  great  equestrian 
statue  of  Gattamelata,  the  Venetian  commander-in¬ 
chief,  the  work  of  Donatello.  On  one  side  of  the 
piazza  is  the  “  School  of  the  Saint,”  the  saint  in 
Padua  of  course  has  but  one  meaning.  This  build¬ 
ing  contains  seventeen  frescoes  representing  mira¬ 
cles  of  his,  and  at  the  side  of  it  is  the  Chapel  of 
St.  George,  with  more  frescoes,  and  the  Museo 
Cveico,  containing  the  city  library,  the  archives,  and 
a  good  picture  gallery. 

Entering  the  large  church  of  the  saint,  one  sees 
bare  white  walls,  and  a  dome,  also  very  white  and 
glaring.  Happily  this  effect  is  but  a  temporary 
one.  Already  designs  have  been  accepted  from 
artists  for  the  entire  covering  of  walls  and  interior 
of  the  dome  with  frescoes  painted  in  the  style  of  the 

[  276  ] 


San  Apollinare  in  Classe 


<£>U)  Cities 


old  ones  in  other  portions  of  the  building,  and 
judging  from  these  designs  exhibited  in  the  church, 
the  edifice  will,  when  the  frescoes  are  executed,  be 
very  beautiful.  The  right  transept,  the  Chapel 
of  St.  Felix,  is  thus  covered,  but  with  genuine  old 
fourteenth  century  frescoes  by  Verona  artists,  Alti- 
chieri  and  Avanzi.  In  the  choir  are  a  dozen  fine 
bas-reliefs  of  Old  Testament  subjects  by  Bellano, 
a  pupil  of  the  great  Donatello,  and  by  Riccio,  with 
a  splendid  candelabra  by  the  latter.  The  altar  has 
been  made  over  within  the  last  fifteen  years,  and  a 
number  of  old  sculptures  by  Donatello,  which  other¬ 
wise  might  have  been  neglected  or  lost  in  the  course 
of  time,  have  been  utilized,  and  are  beautifully 
preserved  in  this  form. 

Opposite  the  chapel  of  St.  Felix,  in  the  left 
transept,  is  the  chapel  of  St.  Anthony  himself. 
Around  the  wall  are  nine  representations  of  scenes 
from  his  life  done  in  high  relief,  the  work  of  differ¬ 
ent  sixteenth  century  sculptors.  In  the  centre  of 
the  chapel  is  the  tomb  of  the  saint,  within  the 
altar,  which  is  decorated  ( ? )  with  votive  off  erings. 
While  looking  at  the  chapel  several  people,  mostly 
men,  came  into  it  and  passed  behind  the  altar. 
They  stood  there  for  some  minutes,  resting  one 
hand  against  the  side  of  the  sarcophagus,  with  a 
reverent  expression  and  bent  head,  then  went 
quietly  away.  Evidently  the  saint’s  resting  place  is 
believed  to  possess  some  miraculous  powers. 

Although  the  church  does  not  look  old,  especially 

[  277] 


tJDfjree  <©uatnt  <0lb  Cities 

viewed  from  without,  it  was  begun  in  1232,  and  fin¬ 
ished  in  1475. 

Padua  has  even  more  porticoes  than  Bologna, 
almost  every  street  is  lined  with  them,  and  very 
convenient  I  found  them  on  more  than  one  occa¬ 
sion  when  it  poured  in  torrents,  and  cabs  were  few 
and  far  between.  Owing  probably  to  the  bad 
weather,  I  had  the  little  church  of  the  Madonna 
dell’ Arena  entirely  to  myself.  To  reach  this,  one 
enters  a  garden  occupying  the  slightly  depressed 
site  of  a  former  Roman  amphitheatre.  Crossing 
the  garden,  one  enters  the  little  church  guarded  by 
a  solitary  custodian,  for  it  is  the  property  of  the 
government.  It  was  built  in  1303  by  a  native  of 
Padua,  and  its  walls  are  entirely  covered  with  fres¬ 
coes  by  Giotto  in  his  very  best  manner.  They  have 
been  restored,  but  not  noticeably  so,  and  are  very 
interesting,  representing  the  history  of  the  Virgin, 
and  the  life  of  Christ.  Not  far  away  is  the  very  old 
but  much  restored  church  of  the  Eremitani of  the 
Augustine  brotherhood.  Here  a  most  industrious 
woman  was  waiting  to  unlock  a  chapel  for  me, 
knitting  steadily. 

In  the  chapel  are  fifteenth  century  frescoes  by 
Mantegna  and  others,  representing  scenes  from 
the  lives  of  St.  Christopher  and  St.  James.  Unfor¬ 
tunately  these  frescoes  are  sadly  damaged,  their 
colours  faded  and  sometimes  entirely  obliterated. 


[  278] 


CHAPTER  XV. 


SURELY  any  city  which  can  look  attractive 
in  a  pouring  rain-storm  is  singularly  favoured 
by  Nature.  Long  before  the  train  reached 
Venice  the  blinding  sheets  of  rain  on  the  occasion 
of  my  first  visit,  cut  off  all  view.  What  a  different 
approach  to  the  Island  City  from  one’s  hopes  and 
expectations!  Then  to  step  out  on  a  platform 
which  might  belong  to  the  railway  station  in  any 
city,  with  crowds  of  facchini  and  hotel  porters, 
clamouring  and  calling  out  the  names  of  hotels, 
quite  as  anywhere  on  the  continent,  is  just  a  bit 
disappointing.  But  one  need  take  but  a  few  steps 
and  there  is  the  Grand  Canal  at  one’s  feet,  with  a 
broad  flight  of  marble  steps  leading  down  to  it. 
There  are  black  gondolas  waiting  for  one,  and  a 
few  feet  away  the  small,  puffing  steamers  which 
however  out  of  harmony  with  one’s  artistic  ideas, 
are  most  convenient,  and  will  take  people  from  one 
end  of  the  city  to  the  other,  stopping  frequently. 
They  are  not  only  very  cheap,  but  quick  and  con¬ 
venient,  and  in  summertime  cool. 

Everyone  expects  to  travel  in  gondolas  in 
Venice,  yet  it  was  from  the  deck  of  one  of  these 
steamers  that  I  had  my  first  survey  of  the  Grand 
Canal.  The  reason  for  this  prosaic  choice  was  the 

[  279  ] 


Venice  anb 


rain-storm,  which  made  the  gondola,  even  beneath 
its  hooded  top,  seem  unattractive  for  the  time  being. 
The  passage  to  the  steamers  was  roofed  over,  the 
gondolas  lay  out  in  the  open.  There  is  something 
else  to  be  said  in  favour  of  the  steamers,  even  on 
bright  days.  They  traverse  the  entire  length  of  the 
Grand  Canal,  while  the  gondoliers,  unless  bar¬ 
gained  with  previously  to  do  otherwise,  will  take 
one  by  many  a  short  cut,  through  narrow  side 
canals,  to  one’s  destination.  On  the  other  hand, 
gondolas  carry  trunks,  the  steamers  merely  hand 
luggage.  The  gondoliers  must  be  bargained  with, 
and  this,  when  one  has  luggage,  is  not  easy  for  the 
stranger.  If  there  is  a  fixed  tariff  for  luggage  I 
at  least  have  never  discovered  it.  By  the  hour  in 
the  city,  the  tariff  for  gondolas  is  one  lira  an  hour, 
for  from  one  to  four  persons,  with  a  pourboire 
expected,  if  one  employs  but  one  gondolier,  all  that 
is  necessary  for  those  content  to  drift  along  slowly, 
and  enjoy  themselves  in  this  most  perfect  of  con¬ 
veyances,  with  its  lulling  motion.  If  one  wish  to 
proceed  rapidly  another  gondolier  may  be  engaged 
at  about  double  the  price,  or  less  for  an  experienced 
bargainer.  But  unless  passengers  declare  that  they 
wish  but  one  rower  two  will  always  get  in  the 
gondola. 

We  started  then  from  the  station  on  the  deck  of 
the  small  steamer.  Beautiful  churches,  some  with 
a  narrow  strip  of  paved  ground  between  them  and 
the  water,  others  with  merely  a  flight  of  steps  ris- 

[  280  ] 


%$ev  ipaiaces: 


in g  directly  from  it,  and  rows  and  rows  of  stately 
old  palaces,  their  walls  lapped  by  the  waves,  their 
front  entrance  raised  a  foot  or  so  above  the  sea 
level,  but  quite  without  intervening  courtyard,  and 
with  gaily  painted  poles,  sometimes  surmounted 
by  the  owner’s  crest,  set  in  rows  along  the  front  of 
the  palace,  a  few  feet  out  in  the  water,  for  visitors’ 
gondolas  to  be  fastened  to.  Sometimes  they  are 
painted  in  stripes,  quite  like  barbers’  poles.  Some 
of  the  palaces,  fallen  from  a  former  lofty  estate, 
now  serve  as  factories  and  warerooms,  others  are 
pensions  and  hotels,  still  others  converted  into  apart¬ 
ments,  some  of  them  sadly  out  of  repair.  It  may 
not  attract  attention  at  first,  but  later  one  cannot 
fail  to  notice  how  many  of  these  palaces  are  out  of 
line.  Side-walls  lean  noticeably  out  of  plumb,  cor¬ 
nices  seen  against  the  sky  are  decidedly  crooked, 
and  one  is  told  of  the  steady,  slow,  but  none  the  less 
sure,  undermining  of  these  foundations  which  ex¬ 
tend  so  far  below  the  water  line,  and  will  wonder 
if  it  can  really  be  true  that  some  day  these  monu¬ 
ments  of  past  glories  will  totter  into  the  waves  and 
vanish  from  sight  forever.  Meanwhile  few  trouble 
themselves  with  such  gloomy  forebodings.  The 
graceful  black  gondolas  dart  here  and  there,  pro¬ 
pelled  by  that  strong,  graceful  motion  of  their  gon¬ 
doliers,  a  movement  which  does  not  suggest  violent 
exertion,  yet  which  sends  the  boat  on  so  swiftly. 
They  turn  corners  so  suddenly  that  one  momen¬ 
tarily  expects  them  to  crash  into  the  walls  of  one 

[281] 


Venice  anb 


or  other  building  on  opposite  sides  of  some  espe¬ 
cially  narrow  canal,  but  they  never  do,  and  one’s 
respect  for  the  lithe  man  who  guides  his  long  craft 
with  such  apparent  ease  from  his  post  at  the  stern 
becomes  very  great.  And  how  musically  they  call 
out  to  one  another  in  the  soft  Venetian  dialect,  as 
they  round  sudden  corners,  or  dart  beneath 
bridges !  Even  when  they  have  an  altercation  with 
each  other,  not  a  rare  occurrence,  and  hurl  abusive 
epithets  at  each  other,  which  even  those  with  a  good 
knowledge  of  Italian  cannot  possibly  understand, 
the  words  do  not  sound  abusive.  The  gondolier 
engaged  for  the  season  or  for  a  month  usually 
arrays  himself  very  gorgeously  in  bright  coloured 
sash  and  hat  ribbons,  and  in  summertime  perhaps 
in  white  ducks,  but  even  the  ordinary  dark  clothes 
are  picturesque. 

The  hotel  accommodations  in  this  city  are  not  to 
be  boasted  of,  and  there  is  much  complaint,  even 
of  the  highest  priced  ones,  and  Venice  is  more  ex¬ 
pensive  than  any  other  Italian  city.  People  stay¬ 
ing  here  for  any  length  of  time  often  give  up  the 
hotel  table,  and  hunt  out  the  typically  Italian  res¬ 
taurants,  but  this  is,  of  course,  not  easy  for  utter 
strangers.  These  restaurants,  where  the  Italian 
dishes  are  very  good,  are  usually  on  out  of  the  way 
side  streets — calle,  they  are  called — of  whose  very 
existence  one  may  be  in  ignorance.  Many  of  the 
Venetian  pensions  are  on  these  back  streets,  quite 
away  from  the  water,  or  on  side  canals  whose  odours 

[  282  ] 


Jfytv  -palaces 


are  not  all  that  might  be  desired.  Almost  everyone 
will  wish  to  be  located  either  on  the  Grand  Canal 
or  the  Canale  San  Marco,  its  continuation,  and,  in 
my  opinion,  even  preferable,  for  in  front  of  the 
buildings  here  extends  a  broad  walk,  the  Riva  degli 
Schiavoni,  extending  without  a  break  almost  to  the 
Public  Gardens;  opposite  is  the  harbour,  where 
large  vessels  lie  at  anchor,  and  beyond  the  island 
with  the  church  of  San  Giorgio,  whose  campanile 
now  enjoys  great,  if  temporary,  importance,  since 
the  downfall  of  its  superior,  the  lamented  Campa¬ 
nile  of  San  Marco.  It  is  now  the  highest  in  Venice, 
and  from  its  top  the  view  over  Venice  and  the  sea 
is  superb.  The  church,  also,  is  well  worth  visiting, 
with  paintings  by  Tintoretto  and  a  fine  group  in 
bronze  by  Campagna. 

On  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni  there  is  much  stir 
and  bustle,  and  it  is  interesting  to  watch  the  crowds 
that  flock  past  if  the  day  be  fine,  people  of  all 
nationalities  and  classes  in  life.  Here,  too,  are 
many  little  caffes,  not  fashionable  like  those  on  the 
Piazza — the  Piazza  in  Venice  always  means  the 
Piazza  San  Marco — but  largely  patronized  by  Ital¬ 
ians.  The  very  stir  and  bustle  of  this  section  may, 
however,  be  an  objection.  In  summer  these  caffes 
are  crowded;  quantities  of  small  tables  are  set  out 
in  front  of  them,  almost  to  the  water’s  edge,  some¬ 
times  one  of  the  regimental  bands  plays  here,  and 
when  the  music  ceases,  at  half  past  ten  or  eleven, 
the  caffes  do  not  empty  for  some  time.  Even  after 

[  283  ] 


Venice  anb 


that  parties  of  men  and  women  are  continually 
passing,  chattering  and  laughing,  so  that  it  is  late 
indeed  before  quiet  settles  down.  Then  very  early 
in  the  morning,  when  sky  and  sea  are  full  of  ex¬ 
quisite  opalescent  shades,  and  a  faint  haze  rests  on 
the  water,  the  boatmen  begin  getting  their  gondolas 
ready  for  the  day,  brushing  cushions,  shaking  out 
the  carpets  for  the  bottom,  and  generally  polishing 
and  cleaning.  They  call  to  each  other,  and  to  the 
workmen  starting  out  for  their  day’s  work.  The 
Italian  is  an  early  riser,  especially  in  summer,  and 
by  six  o’clock  in  the  morning  some  gentlemen  will 
be  taking  an  early  morning  cup  of  black  coffee  in 
the  little  caffes.  Italians  do  not  believe  in  being 
quiet,  so  they  will  not  sip  their  coff  ee  in  silence. 

Seen  under  the  brilliant  sunshine  of  a  summer 
day,  one  is  apt  to  wonder  where  are  the  soft  colour¬ 
ings  seen  in  paintings  of  Venice,  but  to  find  them 
one  has  but  to  rise  early  in  the  morning  or  watch 
the  sunsets.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  in  one  of  the 
narrow  side  canals  where  little  sunlight  penetrates, 
one  will  find  all  the  soft  tones  his  heart  can  desire. 
In  these  canals  the  little  gardens,  with  their  bright 
coloured  flowers  in  blossom  against  the  dark  grey 
sometimes  green  with  moss  of  the  old  walls,  are 
wonderfully  picturesque.  Venice  is  not  always 
serene  and  smiling.  The  day  after  my  arrival  on 
my  first  visit  in  late  April,  the  rain  increased,  a 
fierce  wind  tore  the  umbrellas  of  the  few  who  ven¬ 
tured  outdoors,  it  was  so  rough  in  the  canals  that 

[  284  ] 


Jfytx  ^Palaces 


few  gondolas  cared  to  venture  out,  and  the  Piazza 
looked  like  a  lake.  It  sometimes  almost  does  be¬ 
come  one.  There  have  been  storms  of  such  fierce¬ 
ness  that  it  was  actually  flooded,  and  people  went 
about  it  in  boats. 

Even  in  the  rain  I  could  not  resign  myself  to 
spending  my  first  day  in  Venice  indoors,  so  I 
started  for  the  Piazza,  crossing  the  same  little  canal 
as  does  the  famous  Bridge  of  Sighs,  only  a  few  rods 
away.  The  marble  of  this  latter  bridge  is  strangely 
white  in  comparison  with  that  of  the  Doges’  Palace 
and  the  prison  which  it  connects,  and  has,  in  conse¬ 
quence,  quite  a  scrubbed  appearance.  The  Piaz- 
zetta  of  San  Marco  extends  back  from  the  water’s 
edge  to  the  Piazza  itself.  Porticoes  run  along  the 
fronts  of  all  buildings  surrounding  the  Piazza. 
Fronting  on  the  Piazzetta,  with  its  two  conspicuous 
columns  of  granite,  supporting  one,  a  statue  of  the 
Winged  Lion  of  St.  Mark,  the  other  a  statue  of  the 
ancient  patron  of  Venice,  St.  Theodore  on  his 
crocodile,  are  two  porticoed  buildings,  the  Palace 
of  the  Doges,  and  the  old  library.  It  was  one  cor¬ 
ner  of  this  latter  that  was  damaged  when  the 
Campanile  fell. 

All  around  the  Piazza  are  the  alluring  shops  of 
Venice,  and  the  two  chief  caffes,  of  which,  before 
Venice  became  a  part  of  Italy,  one  was  always 
the  meeting  place  of  Austrians  and  their  sympa¬ 
thizers,  the  other  of  the  Italians  and  the  friends  of 
United  Italy.  Several  evenings  a  week  in  summer 

[  285  ] 


Venice  anti 


a  fine  regimental  band  plays  for  two  hours  in  the 
Piazza,  on  which  occasions  the  caffes  are  filled,  and 
the  little  tables  set  out  under  the  porticoes  and  well 
out  into  the  square,  and  crowds  of  people  prome¬ 
nade  slowly  around  the  bandstand. 

Although  a  sunny  day  brings  out  the  magnifi¬ 
cence  of  St.  Mark’s,  that  wonder  of  wonders,  the 
gorgeous  jewel  of  a  building,  yet  even  in  the  rain 
it  is  a  thing  of  delight.  Viewed  from  without  or 
entering,  one  is  simply  dazzled  by  its  magnificence. 
The  dim  light  of  the  interior,  the  splendid  mosaics 
covering  every  inch  of  upper  walls  and  choir,  the 
old  pillars  supporting  galleries  around  the  entire 
cross-shaped  building,  and  the  five  domes,  are  all 
quite  as  one  has  tried  to  picture  them,  only  far 
more  beautiful.  Outside  the  ceilings  of  the  portico 
are  all  covered  with  the  curious  mosaics.  Later,  by 
going  up  into  the  galleries  of  the  church  one  sees 
how  these  are  made,  the  tiny  little  bits  of  stone 
against  the  gold  background,  also  composed  of 
bits,  but  from  below  the  effect  is  almost  that  of 
paintings.  From  the  windows  of  the  gallery  at 
the  rear  a  near  view  may  be  had  of  the  famous  four 
horses  surmounting  the  principal  portal.  From 
these  galleries  one  may  spend  much  time  in  study¬ 
ing  out  the  subjects  of  the  mosaics,  all  of  them 
biblical,  and  with  St.  Mark  a  prominent  figure. 
Some  of  these  are  made  from  designs  by  the  great 
artists  of  the  world,  those  on  the  triumphal  arch  are 
by  Tintoretto,  but  others  are  of  a  much  earlier 

[  286  ] 


palates 


period,  and  these  are  quaint,  and  extremely  inter¬ 
esting  to  study  in  the  hope  of  finding  their  some¬ 
times  obscure  meaning.  In  the  archways  over  the 
five  doors  of  the  front  fa9ade  are  more  mosaics,  and 
above  a  bewildering  number  of  little  minarets,  and 
much  gilding  and  ornamentation,  but  one  would 
not  have  it  less  gorgeous  for  the  world ;  it  is  unique, 
fantastic,  beyond  any  other  church  in  Italy,  the 
only  San  Marco. 

Opening  out  of  the  church  is  the  old  baptistery, 
containing  the  tomb  of  a  doge,  and  opening  out 
of  the  baptistery  is  the  Chapel  Zenon,  with  a  great 
monument  to  the  cardinal  of  that  name,  and  an 
altar  which,  when  first  I  saw  it,  the  day  being  a 
holiday,  was  a  mass  of  hideous  paper  flowers. 
Everyone  should  see  the  wonderful  pala  (Toro  back 
of  the  main  altar,  and  only  visible  after  paying  the 
small  fee  required,  between  the  hours  of  noon  and 
two  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  than  which  few  could 
be  less  convenient.  After  two  o’clock  not  even  a 
goodly  tip  will  induce  the  sacristan  to  show  it,  and 
it  is  then  shut  in  by  doors  which  entirely  conceal  it. 
It  is  a  gorgeous  decoration,  made  in  Constantinople 
early  in  the  twelfth  century,  of  gold,  silver,  enamel 
and  jewels,  and  cost  millions  of  lire.  Beneath  the 
main  altar  of  St.  Mark’s  repose  the  bones  of  the 
saint  of  that  name. 

Leaving  the  church,  on  the  right  hand  is  the  clock 
tower,  surmounted  by  two  bronze  Vulcans  who 
strike  the  hours,  and  the  whole  structure  a  mass  of 

[  287  ] 


Venice  anb 


blue  and  gilt  decoration.  Beneath  this  building  an 
archway  admits  one  to  the  narrow  lane  of  the  Mer- 
ceria,  with  tiny  attractive  shops  on  either  side,  and 
so  narrow  that  not  more  than  four  persons  could 
possibly  walk  abreast.  This  street  and  the  adjoin¬ 
ing  ones  are  very  entertaining  to  walk  in.  Small 
bridges  cross  narrow  canals,  other  little  streets 
branch  off  at  right  angles,  or  suddenly  one  comes 
upon  a  small  square  with  a  church;  more  turns, 
until  one  becomes  quite  bewildered,  and  then  a 
large  bridge  looms  close  at  hand,  none  other  than 
the  Rialto  Bridge,  one  of  the  three  bridges  span¬ 
ning  the  Grand  Canal.  It  is  a  surprise  to  find  it 
thus  close  at  hand,  for  it  seemed  far  away,  and  is 
not  near  if  one  approaches  it  on  the  winding  canal, 
but  only  a  few  minutes’  walk  from  the  Piazza, 
through  these  little  streets. 

I  had  occasion  to  become  well  acquainted  with 
this  section  of  the  city.  An  express  order  for 
money  was  to  be  sent  me  in  Venice,  and  it  arrived 
in  due  time,  but  by  a  mistake  of  the  New  York 
bank  a  particular  bank  in  Venice  was  specified,  and 
no  other  could  therefore  pay  it.  I  went  there  ex¬ 
pecting  but  a  moment’s  delay.  Banks  in  Italy  had 
frequently  cashed  checks  and  drafts  for  me  with¬ 
out  asking  for  means  of  identification,  but  it  was 
to  be  quite  otherwise  this  time.  The  cashier  took 
the  order  and  studied  it  carefully  for  several  min¬ 
utes,  although  there  were  others  waiting  their  turn. 
Then  he  laid  it  aside  and  retired  to  a  rear  room,  re- 

[  288  ] 


< 


Typical  Side  Canal,  Venice 


^er  ipalaces; 


maining  in  consultation  with  an  invisible  person  for 
some  minutes.  He  finally  returned,  and  with  equal 
deliberation  informed  me  that  they  had  the  letter 
of  advice  from  America,  but  they  had  heard  noth¬ 
ing  from  Rome,  and  until  they  did  could  not  pos¬ 
sibly  give  me  the  money.  “  Perhaps  we  may  hear 
to-morrow,”  he  added.  As  I  was  leaving  in  dis¬ 
gust,  f  or  I  hated  to  waste  my  precious  time  in  V en- 
ice  in  coming  back  to  that  bank,  the  porter  kindly 
told  me  to  be  sure  and  have  the  order  stamped  at 
the  proper  office  before  returning,  and  also  told 
me  where  to  find  this  office.  This  is  another  for¬ 
mality  which  must  be  gone  through  with  before  any 
draft  or  bank  check  can  be  cashed  in  Italy.  One 
must  hunt  up  the  office  del  Bollo ,  not  always  in  an 
especially  convenient  locality,  and  pay  the  small  fee, 
a  few  centesimi,  for  the  affixing  of  a  stamp.  The 
banks  cannot  send  and  have  it  done  for  one,  and 
the  loss  of  time  is  often  annoying.  The  process 
itself  is  brief  enough. 

Having  attended  to  this,  I  returned  to  the  bank 
the  next  morning.  It  lacked  a  few  minutes  of  the 
opening  hour,  ten  o’clock,  and  several  people  were 
already  in  line  before  the  cashier’s  window.  Ten 
o’clock  came  and  passed.  No  sign  of  the  window 
being  opened.  The  business  men  shrugged  their 
shoulders  and  smiled.  Finally  it  slowly  opened, 
and  the  same  leisurely  old  man  appeared  behind  it. 
One  of  the  men  in  front  of  me  presented  a  large 
bank  note  for  which  he  wished  small  coins,  and  I 

[  289  ] 


Venice  anti 


wondered  what  the  paying  teller  of  one  of  our 
large  city  banks  would  have  thought  of  the 
leisurely  manner  in  which  this  one  gave  money, 
stopping  for  quite  a  minute  in  the  middle  of  the 
act  to  exchange  some  words  with  an  invisible  per¬ 
son  behind  the  partition.  Finally  my  turn  came. 
Yes,  he  believed  the  advice  from  Rome  had  come. 
He  would  see.  Off  he  went  to  the  rear  office,  and 
remained  for  some  time.  Then  he  came  back  and 
picked  up  the  express  order,  studying  it  again  care¬ 
fully,  quite  as  though  he  had  never  seen  one  before. 
All  this  happened,  not  in  a  small,  insignificant  bank, 
but  in  one  of  the  leading  banks  of  Italy,  with 
branch  offices  in  many  cities.  He  consulted  a  letter, 
he  consulted  a  paper,  looked  over  a  column  of  fig¬ 
ures  and  added  a  few,  then  slowly  asked  me  if  I 
had  any  means  of  identification,  the  first  request  of 
this  kind  ever  made  me  in  Italy.  I  produced  a 
paper,  which  fortunately  I  had  brought  with  me. 
He  gazed  at  it  gravely,  and  examined  it,  oh,  so 
slowly,  while  the  line  behind  me  lengthened,  and  a 
few  sighed  faintly.  Then,  still  slowly  and  solemnly, 
he  expressed  the  desire  to  see  me  write  my  name. 
I  complied,  and  he  studied  the  signature,  and  then, 
and  only  then,  very,  very  slowly  counted  out  the 
bank  notes,  and  I  was  free  to  depart  with  my 
money.  Time,  half  an  hour  at  a  moderate  calcu¬ 
lation. 

Two  days  after  my  arrival,  I  awoke  to  see  a 
bright,  clear  sky.  The  sun  was  pouring  down 

[  290  ] 


The  Public  Gardens,  Venice,  with  Campanile  of  San  Giorgio  in  the  Distance 


Her  ipalaces 


upon  the  broad  walk  in  front  of  the  hotel,  the  water 
was  a  brilliant  blue,  the  waves  of  the  preceding  day 
had  calmed  down  into  little  ripples,  everyone  was 
gay,  and  I  fell  completely  under  the  charm  of  the 
place.  One  morning,  on  the  recommendation  of 
two  wonderfully  energetic  elderly  women,  we 
climbed  to  the  top  of  the  Campanile  of  San 
Giorgio,  up  a  steep  inclined  plane  for  part  of  the 
way,  with  little  strips  of  wood  nailed  across  to  keep 
one  from  sliding  back,  and  a  ladder-like  stair  for 
the  rest  of  the  ascent.  The  fine  view  well  repaid  the 
trouble.  The  whole  city  lay  at  our  feet,  the  dis¬ 
tant  islands  and  the  sea  on  the  other  hand,  and  the 
light  on  the  water  that  clear  day  was  exquisite. 

These  two  elderly  women  who  were  staying  at 
our  hotel,  amused  us  greatly.  All  day  long,  morn¬ 
ing  and  afternoon,  they  went  sightseeing.  Their 
time  was  limited,  nor  did  they  look  very  robust,  but 
I  believe  there  were  few  sights  in  Venice  that  they 
did  not  see.  In  the  evening  they  wrote  lengthy 
accounts  of  what  they  had  seen  during  the  day  in 
their  diaries  and  letters.  The  younger  sister  was 
sometimes  tempted  to  shirk  this  part  of  the  daily 
programme,  but  the  elder  was  inflexible.  “No,  sis¬ 
ter,”  I  once  heard  her  remark  to  some  suggestion 
of  omitting  the  diary  writing  from  the  younger, 
“  You  will  have  no  time  to  do  it  to-morrow  with  all 
we  have  on  hand.”  This  argument  seemed  to  con¬ 
vince  the  poor,  tired  little  lady;  duty  must  not  be 
left  undone,  and  she  sat  meekly  down  to  her  task. 

[  291  ] 


Venice  anb 


Choose  some  bright  morning,  and  go  early — it 
is  open  at  nine  o’clock — for  the  first  visit  to  the 
Palace  of  the  Doges.  Passing  through  the  door¬ 
way  with  beautifully  carved  stone  framework,  at 
the  side  of  San  Marco,  and  a  short  passage,  one 
comes  out  into  a  courtyard  with  an  old  fountain, 
with  exquisite  marble  basin,  and  in  front  of  one  is 
the  Stairway  of  the  Giants,  so-called  because  of  the 
two  colossal  statues  of  Mars  and  Neptune.  Oppo¬ 
site  are  statues  of  Adam  and  Eve.  Ascending  this 
staircase,  and  purchasing  the  admission  tickets, 
people  are  free  to  visit  the  rooms  without  a  guide, 
unless  one  is  desired.  The  library,  which  was  for¬ 
merly  in  this  building,  has  now  been  removed.  The 
Archseological  Museum  with  its  antique  sculptures, 
many  of  which  were  taken  as  trophies  by  the  Vene¬ 
tians  in  their  wars,  the  bronzes  and  bas-reliefs 
occupy  the  rooms  formerly  serving  as  residence  for 
the  Doge.  From  one  of  these  rooms  opens  a  nar¬ 
row  entry  with  an  insignificant  looking  stairway, 
but  from  this  stairway  one  views  a  fine  fresco  of 
St.  Christopher,  by  Titian. 

To  reach  the  second  story,  where  are  the  eight 
assembly  rooms  of  the  authorities,  one  ascends  the 
staircase  called  the  Scala  (Toro,  formerly  reserved 
f  or  those  nobles  whose  names  were  inscribed  in  the 
Golden  Book,  no  mere  Blue  Book  would  satisfy 
luxurious  Venice.  The  walls  and  ceilings  of  these 
eight  rooms  are  entirely  covered  with  magnificent 
frescoes  by  Titian,  Veronese,  Tintoretto,  and  others, 

[  292  ] 


Jfytx  palates 


with  all  the  richness  of  colour  characteristic  of 
the  Venetian  school,  all  the  luxury  which  decks  its 
virgins,  its  saints  of  all  ranks,  not  to  mention 
the  Magdalene,  in  robes  fit  for  a  princess,  and  de¬ 
picts  them  with  the  faces  and  forms  of  the  proudest 
of  Venetian  ladies.  The  frescoes  are  so  beautiful 
that  one  wishes  to  examine  them  all,  and  there  is 
nothing  more  tiring  than  surveying  frescoed  ceil¬ 
ings.  Little  cardboard  plans  mounted  like  fans, 
such  as  one  often  finds  in  Italian  galleries,  give 
the  name  and  painter  of  each  fresco,  with  its  posi¬ 
tion,  so  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  confusion.  In 
one  of  these  rooms,  the  former  ante-chamber  of  the 
Three  Inquisitors,  is  a  little  opening  in  the  wall 
now  covered  by  a  sliding  panel,  but  in  the  days  of 
its  use  by  the  head  of  a  lion  with  open  mouth.  Into 
this  open  mouth  were  dropped  those  anonymous 
accusations  which  offered  so  terribly  easy  a  means 
of  revenge  for  private  grudges,  in  those  days 
when  no  man  knew  how  long  his  life  was  safe,  no 
matter  how  eminent  his  public  services. 

After  visiting  these  eight  rooms,  one  descends 
to  the  Hall  of  the  Grand  Council,  this  being  the 
prescribed  order.  The  walls  and  ceiling  of  this 
great  room  are  also  covered  with  frescoes,  even 
more  difficult  to  examine  because  of  the  great 
height  of  the  ceiling.  On  one  end  wall  is  Tinto¬ 
retto’s  “  Paradise,”  said  to  be  the  largest  painting 
in  oils  in  the  world.  From  the  balcony  of  this  room 
there  is  an  exquisite  view  of  the  islands  east  of  the 

[  293  ] 


Venice  attb 


city.  A  small  passageway  leads  into  the  Scrutinio, 
also  covered  with  frescoes,  including  portraits  of 
many  of  the  doges,  with  the  black  veil  painted 
across  the  vacant  spot  where  is  missing  the  portrait 
of  the  beheaded  doge,  Marino  Faliero. 

There  still  remain  to  be  seen  those  of  the  prison 
dungeons  open  to  the  general  public.  The  old 
prison  is  still  used  in  part  as  such.  To  reach  these 
dungeons  one  comes  out  upon  the  gallery  at  the 
head  of  the  Giants’  Staircase,  a  gallery  which  runs 
around  almost  three  entire  sides  of  the  court,  and 
is  entirely  of  marble,  with  passages  opening  off  in 
different  directions.  One  of  these  leads  across  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs,  into  the  prison.  They  say  that 
the  most  terrible  dungeons  were  destroyed  more 
than  a  hundred  years  ago,  but  those  remaining  and 
shown,  are  sufficiently  terrible.  One  does  not  know 
when  one  is  crossing  the  famous  bridge  save  from 
the  remarks  of  a  guide,  for  there  are  no  windows 
looking  out  on  the  canal  which  it  spans,  it  is  merely 
a  dark  stone  passage,  like  any  of  the  others.  At 
the  blind  end  of  one  of  these  passages  the  guide 
tells  that  many  executions  took  place.  The  victim 
was  hanged  from  a  stout  beam  which  is  still  pointed 
out,  and  the  outer  world  was  never  the  wiser,  nor 
knew  but  that  he  still  lived  on,  in  one  of  the  horri¬ 
ble,  perfectly  dark,  low  small  dungeons,  in  some  of 
which  no  one  could  stand  erect,  and  which  open  off 
of  the  dark,  windowless  passages.  It  is  a  gloomy 
place,  with  a  few  smoky  lamps  set  at  intervals  along 

'[  294  ] 


Jfytx  palaces! 


the  walls,  and  most  people  will  be  glad  to  come  out 
into  the  bright  sunshine. 

Some  other  morning  —  the  hours  for  visiting 
these  show  places  of  Venice  are  quite  generally 
from  nine  to  three — the  tourist  will  doubtless  visit 
the  Academy.  One  day  in  this  wonderful  Vene¬ 
tian  Academy,  I  saw  two  of  my  countrywomen 
who  were  evidently  doing  the  gallery  according  to 
rule.  One  was  young,  the  other  elderly,  and  the 
latter  held  a  guide-book  so  closely  to  her  eyes  that 
it  must  have  interfered  with  her  observations.  The 
younger  looked  decidedly  cross,  while  the  other 
faithfully  hunted  up  every  picture  mentioned  in  the 
book,  and  then  pointed  them  out  to  her  companion, 
who  languidly  looked  where  she  was  told  to  do  so. 
All  pictures  not  thus  mentioned  in  the  guide-book 
they  passed  by  as  beneath  notice,  or  at  all  events 
not  necessary  to  include,  for  would  they  not  other¬ 
wise  have  been  mentioned?  In  one  room  I  heard 
the  girl  say,  in  a  hopelessly  bored  tone :  “  There  is 
nothing  in  this  room  that  we  have  to  see,  is  there?  ” 
and  her  companion  cheerfully  replied:  “Wait  a 
moment,  dear,  and  I  will  see.”  She  hastily  con¬ 
sulted  the  guide-book,  found  nothing  mentioned, 
and  they  departed  for  the  next  room. 

Almost  all  the  paintings  in  this  gallery  are  by 
masters  of  the  Venetian  school,  many  of  the  can¬ 
vases  very  large,  and  a  revel  of  colouring.  Bellini, 
Titian,  Veronese  and  Tintoretto,  to  say  nothing  of 
lesser  artists,  may  here  be  studied  at  their  best. 

[  295  ] 


Venice  anb 


The  modem  Venetian  woman  has  little  in  com¬ 
mon  with  her  sisters  of  past  centuries  as  portrayed 
by  these  artists.  One  looks  in  vain  for  the  splendid 
physiques,  the  broad  shoulders,  deep  bosoms,  mas¬ 
sive  but  finely  modelled  limbs,  such  as  one  finds  in 
paintings  and  frescoes.  The  Venetian  women  as 
seen  on  the  streets  of  their  city  are  untidy,  dirty, 
although  picturesque,  often  slight  in  youth,  but 
dumpy  and  shapeless  in  middle  life.  Almost  all  of 
them  wear  black  shawls,  thrown  over  their  heads, 
if  the  weather  be  cool,  if  warm,  merely  draped 
with  careless  grace  over  their  shoulders.  The  beau¬ 
tiful  red-gold  hair  one  does  sometimes  find,  how¬ 
ever,  but  so  untidily  arranged! 

There  are  several  ways  of  reaching  the  Acad¬ 
emy.  By  gondola,  or  by  the  small  steamers  which 
land  passengers  directly  in  front  of  it.  But  one 
may  also,  if  he  choose  to  take  the  time,  walk  to  it. 
These  walks  in  Venice  are  fascinating,  and  some¬ 
times  a  great  surprise  to  those  visitors  who  have 
firmly  believed  that  it  was  impossible  to  walk  in 
Venice.  There  is  an  iron  bridge  in  front  of  the 
Academy,  crossing  the  Grand  Canal,  but  the  prob¬ 
lem,  and  sometimes  it  is  in  very  truth  a  problem,  is 
to  reach  this  bridge,  if  one  is  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  canal,  or  if  not,  to  arrive  by  back  alleys  at 
the  Academy  itself.  N o  one  without  a  fairly  good 
sense  of  direction  had  better  attempt  it.  One  can 
always  find  one  or  more  small  children  who  will  be 
delighted — for  a  consideration — to  guide  one  any- 

[  296  ] 


Jfytv  palaces 


where  in  Venice,  the  difficulty  is  to  escape  them  if 
anxious  to  find  the  way  for  himself.  Of  course  one 
sees  at  once  that  it  is  no  simple  matter  of  walking 
along  the  shore  of  the  Grand  Canal.  In  many 
places  not  an  inch  of  land  intervenes  between  build¬ 
ings  and  water.  One  must  proceed  by  means  of 
the  little  narrow  side  and  back  streets,  with  their 
many  little  bridges,  familiar  to  all  Venetians,  but 
quite  unknown  to  foreigners.  How  many  times 
a  sudden  turn  where  the  way  had  seemed  to  lie 
straight  before  one,  will  bring  up  at  the  water’s 
edge,  perhaps  under  an  archway,  in  front  of  which 
some  gondola  lies  idly  waiting  its  passengers! 
There  is  then  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  retrace  one’s 
steps,  and  try  another  turn.  Y ou  will  be  very  for¬ 
tunate  if  just  as  you  turn  into  this  cul-de-sac  a 
band  of  children  does  not  rush  out  upon  you, 
shrieking:  “  No  passageway,  signora  (or  signore) 
no  passageway!”  The  Italian  word  is  so  similar 
in  sound  to  the  English  one  that  you  are  quite  sure 
to  understand  what  is  meant.  Once  you  fall  into 
the  hands  of  these  little  gamins,  escape  is  not  easy, 
and,  perhaps  in  sheer  bewilderment,  for  they  can 
be  very  noisy  and  troublesome,  you  will  give  in  and 
pay  the  entire  crowd  to  allow  one  of  them  to  guide 
you  where  you  wish  to  go.  But  with  courage  and 
firm  determination,  you  may  get  rid  of  them. 

These  little  side  streets,  the  calle,  give  many  a 
glimpse  of  quaint  old  gardens,  and  sleepy  old  mar¬ 
ble  palaces,  and  frequently  the  way  will  lead  down 

[  297  ] 


Venice  anti 


a  Sotto  Portico 3  an  arched  stone  passage  under 
some  building,  with  views  of  dark  courtyards;  the 
small  canals  one  is  constantly  crossing  are  most 
picturesque,  with  the  water  here  a  dull,  dark, 
greenish  brown,  stealing  sluggishly  beneath  them, 
and  lapping  against  marble  steps  leading  down 
from  the  houses,  or  against  the  family  gondola, 
lying  at  anchor. 

There  are  numbers  of  churches  to  visit  if  one 
has  the  time,  and  usually  at  least  one  great  picture 
in  each.  These  churches  are,  as  a  rule,  open  in  the 
mornings,  and  free,  save  for  the  importunities  of 
sacristans,  less  gracious  and  beguiling  in  their  man¬ 
ner  here  than  elsewhere  in  Italy.  In  the  after¬ 
noons  almost  all  are  closed,  except  a  few  of  the 
most  important,  the  Frari,  for  instance,  with  its 
tombs  of  celebrated  personages,  and  in  the  adjoin¬ 
ing  convent  the  archives  of  Venice.  Here  there  is 
a  regular  charge  for  admission.  Those  wishing  to 
see  the  other  churches  in  the  afternoon  can  usually 
hire  one  of  the  small  boys  who  are  always  hanging 
around,  to  go  for  the  sexton,  who  is  then  feed  for 
opening  it.  As  this  sexton  usually  lives  quite  near 
it  is  generally  possible  to  gain  admittance. 

There  is  one  church,  the  Gesuiti,  which  deserves  a 
visit  because  it  is  so  peculiarly  decorated.  The 
walls  are  of  green  and  white  marble,  arranged  in  a 
regular  pattern,  so  that  the  effect  is  that  of  a  large- 
figured  and  very  ugly  wall  paper,  unique  in  the 
history  of  church  decoration.  In  the  church  is  a 

[  298  ] 


Jfytv  ^Palaces 


picture  by  Titian,  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Lawrence, 
but  so  injured  and  blackened  by  time  that  scarcely 
anything  is  discernible.  The  Madonna  deH’Orto, 
with  many  pictures  by  Tintoretto,  and  in  one 
chapel  of  which  Tintoretto  is  buried,  is  at  the  ex¬ 
treme  northern  end  of  the  city.  The  trip  there  in 
a  gondola  is  an  attractive  one,  giving  a  glimpse  of 
quite  a  different  part  of  the  city  from  that  of  the 
hotel  quarter.  San  Sebastiano  is  the  church  of 
Veronese,  where  he  is  buried,  and  where  are  many 
fine  pictures  by  him.  Then  there  is  the  church  of 
San  Zanipolo,  a  contraction  of  the  name  I  Santi 
Giovanni  e  Paolo,  and  which  was  the  church  of  the 
doges,  where  their  funerals  were  held,  and  where 
many  of  them  were  buried.  All  this  makes  this 
old  Dominican  church  interesting  to  visit,  and  it  is 
quite  a  striking  feature  of  Venice,  for  there  is  an 
unusual  amount  of  ground  about  it,  quite  a  piazza, 
in  fact,  with  a  fine  equestrian  statue  of  Colleoni, 
General  of  the  Republic,  modelled  by  Verrocchio, 
the  master  of  the  great  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

At  that  end  of  the  Grand  Canal  where  it 
broadens  out  into  the  Canal  San  Marco,  is  the 
Dogana,  or  custom-house,  with  a  gilded  statue  of 
Fortune  surmounting  a  ball  on  the  extreme  eastern 
end  of  the  low  building.  Close  to  this  is  the  beauti¬ 
ful  church  of  Santa  Maria  della  Salute.  It  was 
built  after  a  pestilence  as  a  thank-offering  to  the 
Virgin  for  her  assistance  in  overcoming  the  pest, 
and  there  is  a  marble  group  at  the  main  altar,  rep- 

[  299  ] 


Venice  att& 


resenting  her  as  driving  away  the  demons  of  this 
scourge.  Here  are  fine  Titians,  and  quite  an  art 
gallery  in  the  sacristy.  Antique  marble  columns 
were  used  in  the  construction  of  the  choir.  When 
we  visited  this  church  they  were  busy  making 
preparations  for  the  very  elaborate  funeral  of  a 
high  church  dignitary  of  Venice  to  be  held  that 
afternoon.  A  catafalque  covered  with  black  velvet 
was  being  erected  before  the  altar,  black  draperies 
were  being  hung  everywhere,  and  in  the  sacristy 
garments  were  laid  in  readiness  for  the  officiating 
priests  and  choirboys.  The  funeral  procession  of 
barges  and  gondolas  must  have  been  an  odd  sight, 
as  it  proceeded  on  its  way  to  the  island  cemetery 
of  Venice. 

The  school  and  church  of  San  Rocco  are  visited 
for  the  sake  of  the  splendid  paintings  by  Tinto¬ 
retto.  Here  is  his  wonderful  “  Crucifixion,”  his 
masterpiece.  None  of  the  rooms  are  very  light, 
and  this  painting  is  so  large  and  lofty  that  opera 
glasses  are  needed  for  its  study.  From  the  large 
room  upstairs  a  narrow  staircase  leads  up  to  the 
treasury,  which  can  be  seen  for  a  small  fee.  It 
contains  some  extraordinary  relics,  and  the  old  man 
who  showed  me  around  gave  me  much  information. 
This  building  is  not  a  school,  as  its  name  would  in¬ 
dicate,  but  the  meeting-place  for  the  confraternity 
of  San  Rocco.  I  confess  that  I  had  never  heard 
of  this  saint  before  going  to  Italy,  but  he  was  evi¬ 
dently  a  most  remarkable  individual,  and  his  chief 

[  300  ] 


^er  ^Palaces 

distinction,  a  noble  one,  was  his  ability  to  heal  the 
sick,  and  to  minister  to  them.  The  confraternity 
has  all  manner  of  gorgeous  robes,  which  are  worn 
by  the  chaplain  when  officiating,  and  the  most 
elaborate  of  all  on  the  saint’s  day,  or  on  a  few 
other  most  important  occasions.  Then  there  are 
old  chalices  in  this  treasury,  a  piece  of  the  True 
Cross,  one  of  the  thorns  from  the  Crown  of  Thorns, 
and  a  tooth  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  with  other 
similar  curiosities.  The  designs  and  workmanship 
of  some  of  the  gold  and  silver  ware  are  exquisite. 

How  is  it  that  so  many  people  declare  that  there 
is  little  to  see  in  Venice,  and  the  average  tourist 
contents  herself  with  three  days?  Three  months 
would  hardly  suffice  for  its  beauties.  There  is, 
however,  after  a  lengthy  stay  in  Venice  a  feeling 
of  monotony,  the  air  of  melancholy  seldom  per¬ 
ceived  at  first,  becomes  more  apparent,  the  crum¬ 
bling  old  palaces,  dark  canals,  and  frequent  look  of 
desertion  do  have  a  depressing  effect,  despite  their 
charm.  The  chief  drawback  to  summer  stays  in 
Venice,  the  mosquitoes,  are  usually  considerate 
enough  to  leave  one  unmolested  in  the  daytime  or 
even  out  on  the  canals  at  night,  and  with  nets  in 
bedrooms  one  can  be  safe  from  their  attacks. 

It  would  be  to  slight  one  of  the  features  of 
Venice  if  no  mention  were  made  of  the  pigeons 
which  swarm  in  the  Piazza  San  Marco,  walking 
about  in  the  sun,  flying  up  and  perching  on  the  roof 
of  San  Marco,  or  in  the  arches  over  the  doorways, 

[301  ] 


Venice  an ir 


under  the  portal,  or  even  into  the  baptistery  itself 
when  the  doors  are  open.  Someone  is  always  feed¬ 
ing  them,  and  men  with  corn  to  sell  for  this  pur¬ 
pose  haunt  the  Piazza,  and  it  is  a  pretty  sight  to 
see  a  child  with  pigeons  on  her  shoulders,  arms  and 
head,  for  they  are  as  tame  as  possible.  They  seem 
to  consider  this  portion  of  the  city  as  their  especial 
property,  photographers  advertise  to  take  pictures 
of  those  who  wish  to  be  photographed  as  feeding 
the  pigeons,  and  in  their  showcases  one  may  see 
plenty  of  these  photographs. 

Almost  all  tourists  visit  the  lace  factories — espe¬ 
cially  women  tourists — and  the  bead  and  glass  fac¬ 
tories.  The  Venetian  beads  in  bewildering  variety 
are  seen  at  every  turn,  both  in  the  shops  around 
the  Piazza  and  in  those  of  the  narrow  adjoining 
streets.  Long  and  short  strings  of  them,  beads 
made  into  hatpins,  and  small  vases  and  smelling 
salts  bottles  made  of  the  same  kind  of  glass  are 
shown. 

Whenever  one  pauses  before  a  lace  shop  to  look 
at  the  beautiful  wares  displayed  in  the  windows  she 
is  promptly  pounced  upon  by  some  individual 
whom  she  may  not  even  have  seen  hanging  about, 
and  urged  to  visit  the  lace  schools,  in  this  case 
meaning  those  of  the  city.  It  is  difficult  to  escape 
their  importunities,  and  after  visiting  one  school 
one  hardly  cares  to  continue  indefinitely.  We  dis¬ 
covered  one  way  of  escaping  them  which  is  hereby 
offered  for  what  it  is  worth.  After  saying  that  we 

[  302  ] 


jfytv  $alace$ 


had  already  visited  one  school,  this  producing  no 
effect,  but  more  urging — these  men  would  receive 
a  commission  on  any  lace  purchased  by  visitors — we 
hit  upon  the  following  quite  accidentally: 

We  turned  questioner.  What  kind  of  lace  was 
that?  Was  it  more  or  less  expensive  than  the 
piece  next  to  it  ?  What  was  another  kind  ?  Please 
repeat  the  name?  The  name  of  a  third  variety? 
We  found  that  this  apparent  thirst  for  knowledge 
did  not  meet  with  encouragement,  and  after  follow¬ 
ing  this  up  for  several  times,  the  proud  moment 
actually  arrived  when  we  were  allowed  to  pause  and 
gaze  into  windows  without  being  once  addressed  by 
the  discouraged  would-be  guides.  The  number  of 
languages  in  which  they  can  address  tourists  is 
really  amazing.  French,  German,  English  and 
Italian  apparently  they  all  speak,  beside  their  own 
Venetian  dialect.  The  Venetian  beggar  is  the 
most  persistent  and  annoying  of  his  species,  with 
the  possible  exception  of  those  of  Pozzuoli,  and 
their  number  is  legion.  There  is  much  poverty  in 
Venice,  too,  and  the  city  practically  lives  off  the 
foreigners.  But  although  expensive  for  the  aver¬ 
age  tourist,  it  is  quite  possible  for  those  who  know 
how  to  live  economically.  Over  on  the  Fonda- 
menta  delle  Z otter e,  for  instance,  furnished  rooms 
in  quiet  old  buildings  may  be  had  at  very  reason¬ 
able  figures.  Some  landladies  will  furnish  meals, 
or  provide  a  servant  to  cook  them,  and  there  are 
excellent  and  cheap  little  Italian  restaurants  near 

[  303  ] 


Venice  anti 


by.  This  section  is  less  out  of  the  way  than  it  may 
seem  on  the  map,  for  the  steamers  run  to  and  fro, 
and  one  may  walk  through  the  back  streets  in  a  few 
minutes  to  the  Academy  bridge,  and  from  there  to 
the  Piazza. 

One  may  walk  to  the  attractive  Public  Gardens 
of  Venice,  along  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni,  then 
turning  into  the  broad  Via  Garibaldi,  one  of  the 
very  few  streets  in  Venice  where  it  is  possible  to 
imagine  horses  and  carriages,  or  the  little  steamers 
land  one  at  the  entrance  on  the  water  side.  There 
actually  is  one  horse  in  Venice,  employed  in  these 
Public  Gardens.  In  a  building  in  them  the  biennial 
international  art  exhibitions  are  held,  and  bands 
play  several  times  a  week  all  during  the  summer. 
One  may  also  sit  out  under  the  trees  and  lunch  or 
dine  very  well,  or  eat  ices  in  the  evenings,  and 
watch  the  people  who  flock  there,  people  of  every 
station  in  life.  The  trees  of  these  gardens  are  large 
and  beautiful,  and  even  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
in  summer  it  is  cool  here. 

Many  are  the  trips  around  Venice  which  may  be 
made  in  a  gondola,  or  sometimes  by  steamer.  There 
is  the  fishing  village  of  Chioggia,  whose  picturesque 
sails  are  familiar  to  us  from  paintings  and  even  now 
from  the  ubiquitous  coloured  post  card;  there  is  the 
Armenian  Monastery,  on  the  Island  of  San  Laz¬ 
zaro.  Half  an  hour  in  a  gondola  will  take  one  here, 
and  one  of  the  brothers  will  show  visitors  the 
library,  with  many  rare  manuscripts,  the  printing 

[  304  ] 


JNr  ^Palaces 


rooms,  where  books  and  pamphlets  are  printed  in 
no  less  than  thirty-six  different  languages  and 
dialects.  Interesting  souvenirs  are  shown,  auto¬ 
graphs  of  many  famous  men  who  have  visited  or 
stayed  in  the  monastery.  Lord  Byron  was  among 
the  latter,  and  different  exercises  written  by  him 
during  his  stay,  when  he  was  dabbling  with  the 
Greek  language,  prior  to  his  departure  to  aid  the 
Greeks  in  their  struggle  for  independence,  are 
shown.  There  is  a  beautiful  cloister  and  courtyard, 
a  mass  of  palms,  most  effective  against  the  white 
arches  and  walls  around  them.  Very  quaint  are 
some  of  the  English  pamphlets  translated  from 
Armenian  manuscripts,  some  of  them  of  the  sixth 
century.  The  trip  there  and  back  over  the  placid 
lagoons,  past  San  Giorgio  and  out,  is  charming 
in  the  gliding  gondola. 

Murano,  Burano  and  Torcello  may  be  visited 
comfortably  in  one  day  by  taking  a  gondola.  Un¬ 
fortunately  for  full  appreciation  of  their  beauties 
the  day  we  had  selected  for  this  excursion,  one  July, 
proved  one  of  the  hottest  that  it  has  ever  been  my 
ill  fortune  to  experience,  either  in  Italy  or  else¬ 
where.  We  felt  some  misgivings  in  the  early 
morning,  when  the  water  lay  without  a  ripple,  with 
that  faint  haze  so  suggestive  of  heat  over  its  sur¬ 
face,  and  an  absolutely  cloudless  sky,  but  true  to 
the  Italian  determination  always  to  answer  a  ques¬ 
tion  in  the  way  in  which  the  one  questioned  believes 
will  be  most  acceptable  to  the  questioner,  when  we 

[  305  ] 


Venice  anb 


expressed  our  doubts  to  the  hotel  clerk  of  the  ad¬ 
visability  of  taking  this  trip  on  just  that  day,  he 
declared  that  out  on  the  lagoons  it  would  be  much 
cooler  than  in  the  city;  there  was  sure  to  be  a 
breeze. 

The  first  stop  was  at  Murano,  the  home  of  the 
glass  factories,  where  a  disappointment  awaited  us. 
We  had  neglected  through  ignorance  to  provide 
ourselves  in  Venice  with  the  necessary  permit  to 
enter  the  largest  factory,  so  had  to  content  our¬ 
selves  with  a  small  one  where  only  the  cheaper  kinds 
of  Venetian  glass  are  made.  On  this  island  there 
is  an  old  cathedral  of  the  twelfth  century,  with 
marble  columns,  quaint  old  mosaics  over  the  choir, 
and  a  mosaic  pavement  so  sunken  as  to  resemble  the 
waves  of  the  sea.  But  the  town  looked  deserted 
enough.  Then  we  started  for  Torcello.  By  this 
time  the  heat  was  terrific.  There  was  not  the 
slightest  shade  anywhere,  for  first  we  were  out  on 
the  broad  lagoons,  with  only  a  few  barges,  loaded 
with  fruit  or  vegetables  bound  for  the  market  in 
Venice,  to  be  seen  over  the  broad  expanse  of  almost 
motionless  water  beneath  a  coppery  sky.  Then 
when  we  turned  into  the  narrow  canals  intersecting 
the  islands  upon  which  Torcelto  is  built,  even  the 
banks  afforded  no  shade.  There  were  few  build¬ 
ings,  almost  entirely  the  soil  was  planted  with  fruit 
and  vegetable  gardens.  All  along  these  canals  were 
stone  ruins  of  the  former  palaces  which  lined  their 
banks  before  the  destruction  of  the  once  wealthy 

[  306  ] 


Fragment  o£  the  Arena,  Verona 


) 


Her  palaces 


city  by  the  barbarians.  Sometimes  a  fragment 
served  as  a  rude  boat  landing. 

At  last  we  came  to  a  kind  of  settlement,  a  rough 
inn,  a  few  houses,  the  museum,  baptistery,  cathe¬ 
dral  and  church  of  San  Fosco,  the  only  sights  of 
Torcello,  but  well  worth  the  trip.  The  cathedral 
is  of  the  seventh  century,  the  lonely  baptistery  of 
the  early  eleventh,  and  the  Byzantine  church  of 
San  Fosco  close  by,  of  the  twelfth  century.  Serv¬ 
ices  are  rarely  held  here,  but  a  custodian  is  at  hand 
to  open  them  for  the  visitor,  and  strange  and  in¬ 
teresting  the  interiors  are,  with  mosaics,  and  relics 
of  a  still  earlier  period  than  that  of  their  con¬ 
struction. 

From  Torcello  we  pushed  on  to  Burano,  and 
visited  the  lace  school  founded  by  a  society  of  Ital¬ 
ian  ladies,  not  exclusively  Venetian,  and  under  the 
direct  patronage  of  Queen  Margherita,  to  relieve 
the  distress  occasioned  in  the  fishing  village  of 
Burano  by  an  unusually  bad  season,  as  well  as  to 
revive  an  industry  which  was  rapidly  falling  into 
decline.  In  this  school,  watched  over  by  sisters  who 
have  charge  of  their  religious  and  moral  training, 
pupils  ranging  from  little  children  to  grown 
women  are  taught  to  make  the  beautiful  laces,  the 
Burano  and  rose  point,  the  latter  with  its  myriad 
tiny  stitches,  the  most  expensive  of  all  Venetian 
laces,  and  the  heavy  Venetian  lace,  for  all  of  which 
Venice  was  in  former  times  noted,  and  which  may 
be  seen  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  century  por- 

[  307  ] 


Venice  anti 


traits  of  noted  Venetian  ladies  by  the  great  artists  of 
that  period.  The  little  girls  are  very  skilful,  their 
fingers  fly  rapidly.  Some  of  the  former  pupils  of 
the  school,  now  married  women,  come  to  work  for 
a  few  hours  a  day  to  add  to  then*  husbands’  earn¬ 
ings,  and  one  of  the  advantages  of  the  school, 
naively  set  forth  in  the  circulars  in  French  and 
English  presented  to  visitors,  is  the  increase  in  mar¬ 
riages  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  island,  owing 
to  the  dowries  which  Burano  maidens  have  been 
able  to  accumulate  through  the  sale  of  their  work. 

In  spite  of  the  intense  heat  of  the  day,  it  had 
been  an  enjoyable  trip,  but  it  was  somewhat  mad¬ 
dening  to  be  greeted  on  our  return  by  the  same  man 
who  had  encouraged  us  in  going  by  the  remark : 

“  It  has  been  a  very  hot  day  indeed.  Unusually 
hot  for  Venice.  It  must  have  been  terrific  out  on 
the  lagoons,  for  of  course  it  was  much  hotter  there 
than  here!  ” 

To  spend  at  least  one  evening  on  the  Grand 
Canal,  drifting  in  a  gondola  and  listening  to  the 
singers  who  frequent  the  vicinity  of  the  large 
hotels,  is  a  pleasure  which  few  foreigners  will  be 
willing  to  forego.  At  several  points  along  the 
canal,  anchored  near  the  shore  are  small  barges, 
gaily  decked  with  Chinese  lanterns,  and  here  the 
musicians  are  posted.  Some  sing,  while  others 
accompany  them  with  mandolins  and  guitars. 
Arias  and  duets  from  old  and  modern  grand  operas 
mingle  with  some  of  the  charming  folk  songs,  old 

[  308  ] 


H>er  palaces! 


or  new.  The  gondolas  pause  near  these  barges,  and 
at  the  close  of  a  number  the  gondoliers  push  them 
conveniently  near  so  that  the  forestieri  may  con¬ 
tribute  their  small  coins. 

But  those  are  fortunate  indeed  who  happen  to 
be  in  Venice  when  one  of  the  Gran  Serenate,  of 
which  two  or  three  are  arranged  during  the  sum¬ 
mer  season,  for  the  benefit  of  visiting  strangers, 
occurs.  These  are  organized  by  the  city  authorities, 
the  gondoliers  are  allowed  to  charge  practically 
what  they  please — they  usually  agree  upon  a  cer¬ 
tain  sum  much  larger  than  the  usual  tariff — but 
there  is  no  other  charge  for  participating.  A  large 
float  is  constructed,  and  this  is  towed  almost  the 
entire  length  of  the  Grand  Canal  by  steamers 
lashed  to  the  sides.  On  this  gaily  dressed  float, 
there  were,  on  the  occasion  when  we  were  delighted 
spectators  of  the  scene,  an  orchestra,  a  chorus,  and 
several  well-known  opera  singers.  The  buildings 
all  along  the  canal  were  decorated  with  flags  and 
lanterns,  or  the  windows  overlooking  the  canals 
were  lighted  in  honour  of  the  event.  For  the 
benefit  of  those  too  poor  to  hire  a  gondola  or  barge, 
and  accompany  the  float  in  its  progress,  frequent 
halts  were  made  at  such  places  as  the  Rialto  Bridge, 
the  Academy,  etc.,  where  bridges  were  packed 
with  spectators,  and  every  inch  of  ground  existing 
along  the  canal  between  buildings  and  water  was 
crowded.  At  each  of  the  halts  musical  selections 


were  given. 


[  309  ] 


Venice  artb 


Before  the  float  had  started,  the  canal  near  it 
was  so  crowded  with  boats  that  it  seemed  impossible 
that  it  could  move.  There  were  gondolas  filled  with 
parties  of  foreigners  of  every  nationality,  there 
were  shabby  old  gondolas,  brought  out  of  retire¬ 
ment,  and  packed  with  parties  of  the  people,  there 
were  large  barges  also  crowded  to  the  limit  of  their 
capacity,  everyone  merry  and  light-hearted,  ready 
to  make  a  jest  of  everything,  even  when  boat  prows 
became  involved  in  almost  inextricable  confusion. 

When  the  float  was  ready  to  move  the  steamers 
gave  a  premonitory  toot,  and  the  mass  of  small 
craft  slowly  pushed  aside.  In  the  bows  of  each 
steamer  stood  men  armed  with  hose,  and  when  gon¬ 
dolas  or  barges  approached  too  closely  the  streams 
of  water  from  the  hose  were  directed  at  them  and 
their  occupants,  calling  forth  shrieks  of  laughter, 
for  the  water  was  aimed  so  that  it  seldom  actually 
wet  anyone,  but  was  efficacious  in  securing  the 
necessary  leeway  for  the  float. 

The  music  was  excellent,  the  scene  picturesque 
beyond  description,  with  the  gay  lanterns,  the  bril¬ 
liantly  lighted  float,  moving  slowly  over  the  black 
water  which  reflected  it  in  changing  colours,  and  as 
though  in  order  that  absolutely  nothing  might  be 
lacking  to  the  beauty  of  the  whole,  a  full  moon  rose 
over  the  irregular  roof  line  of  old  palaces  and 
church,  and  lent  its  silvery  radiance. 

Some  evening  the  foreigner  should  take  a  gon¬ 
dola  and  instead  of  going  up  and  down  the  Grand 

[310] 


^er  palaces 


Canal,  tell  his  gondolier  to  take  him  out  on  the 
lagoons,  perhaps  in  the  direction  of  the  Armenian 
monastery.  Out  here  the  water  will  be  practically 
deserted.  One  glances  back  at  the  city,  with  rows 
of  lights  like  the  flashing  jewels  of  a  necklace 
gleaming  along  the  Grand  Canal,  and  the  Riva 
degli  Schiavoni,  while  ahead  all  is  dark,  mysterious. 
Into  this  darkness  the  gondola  glides  while  faint 
sounds  of  music  from  the  distance  float  out.  Per¬ 
haps  the  gondolier  can  then  be  persuaded  to  sing, 
and  almost  all  of  them  seem  to  have  good  voices, 
and  be  most  familiar  with  the  musical  literature  of 
their  country.  The  opera  of  II  Trovatore "  is 
always  a  prime  favourite  with  them,  and  one  may 
often  hear  from  his  gondolier  a  tenor  voice  of  no 
mean  quality  and  range,  and  whatever  the  voice,  be 
sure  he  will  sing  with  a  wealth  of  sentiment  and  ex¬ 
pression  often  bewildering  to  the  average  Anglo- 
Saxon.  The  small  Italian  boy,  if  singing  in  public, 
makes  gestures  and  puts  much  expression,  even  if 
exaggerated,  into  what  he  is  doing.  He  seems  to 
have  no  feeling,  such  as  his  small  English  or 
American  brother  would  be  troubled  with,  even  if 
he  felt  the  inclination  to  follow  the  Italian  child’s 
example,  that  by  so  doing  he  is  making  himself 
ridiculous.  The  Italian  sees  no  necessity  for  con¬ 
trolling  emotion  or  sentiment.  He  quite  despises 
those  who  do  so,  and  is  inclined  to  believe  rather 
that  they  are  lacking  in  feeling  than  that  this  ap¬ 
pearance  of  impassivity  is  due  to  control. 

[311] 


Venice  anb  palaces 

In  summer  a  sail  out  to  the  Lido,  the  bathing 
resort  of  Venice,  must  surely  be  taken.  In  the  first 
place,  even  on  the  hottest  days,  when  Venice  itself 
is  almost  intolerable,  for  I  know  no  hotter  place, 
when  it  is  hot,  in  all  Italy,  there  is  always  a  refresh¬ 
ing  breeze  at  the  Lido.  Here  are  rows  of  summer 
villas  and  a  few  hotels,  but  the  majority  of  patrons 
of  the  bathing  establishments  come  out  from 
Venice.  A  fine,  level,  sandy  beach  slopes  very 
gently  out  into  the  water,  so  that  there  is  no  danger 
of  anyone  getting  out  of  his  depth.  This  water  is 
so  warm  in  summer,  when  the  sand  becomes 
thoroughly  heated,  that  entering  it  is  almost  like 
entering  an  actual  warm  bath.  One  may  stay  in 
for  a  very  long  time.  The  foreigner  is  apt  to  be 
amused  at  the  people,  chiefly  Italian  men,  who, 
draped  only  in  a  sheet,  are  strolling  up  and  down 
the  beach  or  lying  in  the  sand,  taking  a  sun  bath. 
When  tired  of  the  water  one  may  sit  in  the  caffe 
overlooking  the  beach,  and  lunch,  dine,  or  partake 
of  light  refreshment  as  he  chooses.  Steamers  run 
out  here  all  day  long  at  frequent  intervals,  and 
until  quite  late  in  the  evening. 


[  312  ] 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


HE  day  came  all  too  soon  when  it  was  neces¬ 


sary  to  bid  this  fascinating  city  farewell. 


The  morning  was  bright,  so  no  fog  and 
rain  interfered  with  the  view.  As  we  ran  over  the 
causeway  upon  which  the  tracks  are  laid  for  some 
distance  out  of  the  city,  there  was  the  sea  on 
either  hand.  There  were  charming  views  of  the 
neighbouring  islands,  and  the  water  took  on  any 
number  of  exquisite  tints,  as  though  trying  quite 
needlessly  to  excite  vain  regrets  in  the  hearts  of  the 
departing  visitors.  At  last  it  vanished  from  sight, 
one  last  glimpse  of  the  spires  of  the  city,  and  we 
ran  through  a  level  country,  then  a  few  hills  ap¬ 
peared,  and  the  train  glided  into  the  station  of 
Verona. 

The  first  sight  that  I  visited  was  the  old  Roman 
Arena,  like  a  smaller  Coliseum,  sufficiently  large 
and  imposing,  however.  It  is  a  more  even  ruin, 
the  tiers  less  broken,  which  makes  it  appear  in  bet¬ 
ter  preservation,  for  there  is  scarcely  a  break  in  the 
two  tiers  of  arches  still  standing,  although  there 
were  once  two  more  above  them.  It  was  built  more 
than  two  centuries  after  the  Coliseum.  During 
the  summer,  theatrical  performances  are  sometimes 
given  here,  and  among  the  great  artists  who  have 


[313] 


3Jn  Verona 

played  within  these  walls  is  none  other  than  the 
great  Duse. 

There  is  another  old  ruin,  a  Roman  theatre  in 
Verona,  and  as  to  its  location  I  questioned  the  cus¬ 
todian  in  charge  of  the  entrance  of  the  Arena,  and 
the  post  card  views  thereof.  He  was  a  particularly 
courteous  and  quite  distinguished  looking  old  man, 
responded  readily  to  my  questions,  and  seeing  that 
I  was  a  stranger,  suggested  various  other  points 
of  interest  in  the  town,  advising  me  to  take  a  cab 
and  make  the  rounds.  He  offered  to  call  one  for 
me,  and  I  consented.  He  found  a  cab,  told  the 
driver  just  what  sights  he  must  take  me  to  see,  and 
what  would  be  the  best  order  in  which  to  visit  them, 
then  helped  me  in,  and  took  off  his  hat  with  a 
sweeping  bow.  I  tried  to  slip  a  coin  into  his  hand, 
but  he  drew  back,  and  said:  “  Oh,  no,  I  do  not  wish 
anything  for  this  little  assistance,”  in  a  firm  man¬ 
ner  that  admitted  no  doubt  of  his  meaning.  I  have 
found  persons  inclined  to  doubt  this  story.  They 
declare  that  no  Italian  ever  refused  a  tip,  but  the 
story  is  true  (and  I  once  met  another).  He  re¬ 
fused  a  tip  which  would  surely  never  have  been 
more  deserved.  I  believe  there  are  few,  very  few  of 
his  kind  to  be  found  in  Europe. 

The  driver  started  off,  pointing  out  everything 
in  sight,  old  gates,  old  buildings,  or  new  statues, 
and  took  me  first  of  all  to  the  Tomb  of  Juliet.  He 
rapped  at  a  door  in  a  high  brick  wall,  and  presently 
it  was  opened,  and  I  was  ushered  into  a  large  yard, 

[  314  ] 


anb  ^oob  bpe 


with  a  band  practising  diligently  in  a  building  close 
to  the  gate,  a  regimental  band,  for  this  is  now  all 
army  property,  and  here  horses  are  trained  for  the 
cavalry  and  artillery  service.  Verona  is  the  seat  of 
a  division  of  the  army,  and  there  are  barracks 
everywhere.  Across  this  yard,  which  the  guide  told 
me  was  once  an  old  cemetery,  in  a  corner  by  itself, 
is  the  removed  and  renovated  tomb.  Apparently 
all  that  is  found  here  of  the  original  structure, 
which  stood  in  quite  a  different  part  of  the  ceme¬ 
tery,  is  the  empty  marble  sarcophagus,  uncovered, 
and  filled  with  visiting  cards  of  all  degrees  of  dis¬ 
colouration,  and  with  names  of  all  nationalities 
upon  them.  The  tomb,  alas  for  the  sentimentally 
inclined,  is  really  strikingly  like  a  large  bathtub, 
and  the  portrait  of  Friar  Lawrence,  her  confessor, 
as  the  guide  will  tell  you,  removed  from  the  wall 
upon  which  it  once  was  painted,  is  close  at  hand. 
Around  tomb  and  portrait  is  a  low  enclosing  wall 
of  red  brick,  with  pillars  supporting  a  roof.  A 
convenient  case  of  post  cards  close  at  hand  con¬ 
tains  reproductions  of  the  tomb  before  and  after 
restoration.  The  custodian,  a  soldier,  told  me  that 
he  had  once  seen  the  play  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet  ” 
and  thought  it  very  beautiful.  I  asked  him  if  he 
had  ever  seen  the  opera  of  that  name,  and  he  asked 
me  whether  I  referred  to  the  one  by  Gounod  or  that 
by  Bellini. 

After  this,  my  driver  insisted  upon  taking  me 
through  the  Porta  Polio,  a  fine  arched  structure 

[315] 


3n  Verona 


built  by  the  great  engineer  and  native  of  Verona, 
Michel  Sammicheli,  and  out  beyond  this  for  a  short 
distance,  until  I  could  see  a  tall  monument  com¬ 
memorating  a  battle  in  modern  history,  and  it  is 
not  his  fault  that  I  do  not  remember  the  name. 
Then  we  took  a  road  which  runs  close  to  the  earth¬ 
works,  wall  and  fortifications  which  encircle  this 
very  strongly  entrenched  city,  and  passed  bastions 
with  such  names  as  San  Bernardino,  San  Zeno — 
there  is  one  in  the  other  direction  called  the  Bastion 
of  the  Holy  Spirit! — turned  down  a  street,  then 
into  a  piazza  of  the  same  name,  and  there  was  the 
church  of  San  Zeno  Maggiore  before  me.  The 
old  doors  of  bronze,  with  their  quaint  reliefs,  some 
biblical  scenes,  others  depicting  incidents  in  the  life 
of  the  Emperor  Theodoric  the  Goth,  and  the 
Infernal  Hunt,  are  so  very  old  that  they  would 
long  since  have  fallen  in  pieces  were  they  not  fast¬ 
ened  to  stout  wooden  doors.  Within  the  church 
there  are  but  a  few  faded  streaks  to  indicate  what 
probably  were  once  frescoes  covering  all  the  walls, 
but  the  interior  is  beautiful.  Behind  the  main  altar 
is  a  veiled  picture  of  the  Virgin  and  saints  by 
Mantegna,  a  fine  painting.  Flights  of  steps  lead 
up  to  the  choir,  which  is  high  above  the  level  of  the 
nave,  and  beneath  is  the  crypt,  where  there  is  a 
modern  tomb  of  the  saint,  a  fisherman  who  became 
bishop  of  Verona,  and  over  an  altar  at  one  side  of 
the  choir  is  a  painted  statue  of  him,  very  queer,  and 
said  to  date  from  the  eleventh  century.  St.  Zeno 

[  31G  ] 


anb  #oob=t)j»e 


is  another  of  these  local  saints  whom  one  is  con¬ 
stantly  hearing  of  in  Italy* 

After  leaving  his  church,  we  drove  through  an 
archway  into  the  courtyard  of  the  Castle  Vecchio, 
once  the  home  of  the  celebrated  Scaliger  family, 
now  a  barracks.  At  the  rear  a  fine  bridge,  very 
high  above  the  water  level,  crosses  the  Adige,  and 
the  cabman  was  not  satisfied  until  I  consented  to 
alight,  and  survey  the  landscape  from  a  kind  of 
turret  rising  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge.  The 
view  of  the  city  was  extensive — up  and  down  the 
river,  and  across  for  a  wide  range.  Then  we  drove 
to  the  Corso  Cavour,  the  chief  street  of  the  city, 
and  here  the  driver  pointed  out  old  palaces  in 
bewildering  numbers,  almost  all  apparently  built 
by  Sammicheli.  The  man’s  greatness  was  im¬ 
pressed  upon  me  that  day.  We  passed  a  very  old 
gate,  then  after  a  couple  of  turns  came  out  into  the 
Piazza  dell’  Erbe,  now  the  fruit  and  vegetable  mar¬ 
ket,  and  delightfully  picturesque,  with  booths  set 
down  the  middle  in  rows.  The  surrounding  houses 
are  all  old,  some  of  them  decorated  with  frescoes 
on  the  outside,  so  faded  as  to  be  barely  distinguish¬ 
able,  but  most  effective.  At  one  end  of  the  piazza 
is  a  tall  column,  surmounted  by  the  winged  lion  of 
St.  Mark,  commemorating  the  days  when  Verona 
was  a  province  of  the  great  Republic  of  Venice, 
although  it  is  in  reality  modern.  There  are  also 
an  old  forum  and  a  fountain  in  this  square,  and  the 
modern  market  women  do  not  detract  from  the 

[  317] 


Sn  <£lb  Verona 


picturesque  effect  of  the  whole.  As  we  turned 
corners  into  narrow  streets,  I  saw  more  frescoed 
houses,  and  on  one  of  these  was  a  “  Last  Supper,” 
still  distinguishable,  though  time  and  weather  had 
done  much  to  dim  its  colours.  This  was  by  no  less 
an  artist  than  Paolo  Veronese,  who  was  born  and 
studied  painting  here  in  Verona.  It  is  easy  to 
imagine  that  he  may  have  executed  this  commis¬ 
sion  when  a  young  artist,  with  a  reputation  still  to 
make,  and  when  the  person  giving  the  commission 
little  dreamed  that  some  day  his  heirs  would  be  too 
happy,  could  they  have  the  painting  within,  not 
without  the  house. 

My  driver  was  now  bound  for  the  house  of  Juliet. 
It  is  by  no  means  an  imposing  building,  and  it  is 
hard  to  fancy  that  it  ever  was.  One  of  a  row  of 
houses  built  closely  together,  and  occupied  by  the 
poorest  class  (Juliet’s  house  has  iioav  been  pur¬ 
chased  by  the  Italian  government,  and  is  to  be  kept 
as  a  museum,  so  that  its  condition  will  doubtless  be 
somewhat  improved).  A  large  arched  entrance 
for  carriages  gives  access  to  a  small  and  very  dirty 
courtyard.  The  interior  of  the  house  was  not  then 
on  exhibition,  but  that  was  scarcely  a  matter  for 
regret.  High  up  in  front  of  the  fourth  story  win¬ 
dows  is  a  tiny  balcony,  which  is  gravely  pointed 
out  to  strangers  as  the  Balcony  of  Juliet.  No  other 
balconies,  not  even  a  ledge,  break  the  perpendicular 
surface  of  the  fa9ade,  so  this  is  supposed  to  be 
conclusive  evidence  of  the  actuality  of  the  object 

[318] 


attb  ^oob=faj>e 


designated.  This  balcony  overlooks  the  narrow 
street,  with  tall  houses  on  the  opposite  side.  Sev¬ 
eral  conjectures  are  forced  upon  one.  Romeo  was 
evidently  a  much  greater  athlete  than  we  are  accus¬ 
tomed  to  consider  him,  quite  a  human  fly,  in  fact, 
and  where  were  all  the  occupants  of  the  neighbour¬ 
ing  houses,  even  should  we  assume,  which  seems 
scarcely  probable,  that  they  were  formerly  part  of 
the  great  Capulet  mansion,  when  Romeo  made  that 
wonderful  ascent  to  his  bride’s  chamber?  How 
was  it  possible  for  the  lovers  to  hold  those  long 
whispered  conversations  so  secure  from  being  over¬ 
heard?  It  is  a  most  disappointing  little  balcony. 
Where  is  the  beautiful  garden,  the  park  upon  which 
Juliet  gazed  out?  The  house  of  Romeo,  not  far 
away,  a  trifle  more  prepossessing,  but  also  unro¬ 
mantic,  is  pointed  out. 

Across  the  river  again — it  makes  several  great 
bends — is  the  church  of  San  Giorgio  in  Braida, 
part  of  the  restorations  the  work  of  Sammicheli, 
and  with  some  beautiful  paintings.  Then  we  came 
to  the  antique  theatre.  It  is  on  the  side  of  a  hill, 
and  quite  surrounded  by  most  unattractive  build¬ 
ings,  which  it  is  hoped  may  eventually  be  torn 
down.  Nothing  can  be  seen  from  the  street,  but 
one  stops  before  an  ordinary  wooden  door,  and 
sends  a  small  boy  in  search  of  the  old  man  who  has 
charge  of  showing  the  place,  with  no  admission 
charge,  merely  a  fee  to  him.  Of  course  he  is  never 
at  the  door,  for  then  there  would  be  no  tip  for  the 

[319] 


3n  <£lb  Verona 


small  boy  to  go  in  search  of  him,  and  they  are  too 
kind  to  each  other  not  to  consider  all  this  in  Italy. 
He  came  in  due  time,  unlocked  another  door  several 
feet  away,  and  there  were  the  ruins,  great  arches 
and  blocks  of  stone,  their  purpose  no  longer  appar¬ 
ent,  and  a  kind  of  fountain  fed  from  a  dark  open¬ 
ing  like  the  mouth  of  a  cave,  high  above  it.  The 
old  man  talked  incessantly,  but  he  was  very  old  and 
toothless,  and  spoke  in  a  remarkable  dialect  of  which 
I  could  understand  hardly  a  word,  nor  could  he 
apparently  understand  me,  so  most  of  his  explana¬ 
tion  was  lost  upon  me.  After  this  we  went  back 
to  the  first  door,  entered  a  common  passage,  part  of 
a  house,  and  then  came  out  into  what  might  have 
been  a  backyard,  but  where  were  more  ruins,  all 
mere  fragments,  although  something  of  the  struc¬ 
tural  form  of  a  theatre  can  be  discerned.  No  one 
ignorant  of  the  whereabouts  of  these  ruins  would 
be  apt  to  stumble  upon  them  in  their  present  con¬ 
dition,  but  the  city  of  Verona  has,  I  understand, 
recently  purchased  this  property  to  preserve  as  a 
museum,  and  it  will  doubtless  soon  be  put  in  more 
attractive  shape. 

I  had  not  time  to  visit  the  Giusti  Gardens,  with 
their  venerable  cypresses,  so  we  turned  towards  the 
cathedral,  with  its  unfinished  campanile — by  Sam- 
micheli,  of  course — and  with  a  very  beautiful  old 
portico,  with  statues  of  the  Paladins  of  Charle¬ 
magne,  and  inside  the  church  a  painting  of  the 
Assumption  by  Titian,  and  the  tomb  of  St.  Agatha. 

[  320  ] 


anb  <@oob=tjpe 


Then  we  visited  the  church  of  San  Anastasia,  with 
two  curious  figures  supporting  basins  for  holy 
water.  These  grotesque  figures  are  of  ragged  men, 
their  bare  skin  showing  through  rents  in  their 
garments  vividly  portrayed  in  brown  and  yellow 
marble  by  their  sculptor.  They  crouch  in  most 
uncomfortable  looking  attitudes,  sitting  on  blocks 
of  stone  at  the  foot  of  two  great  pillars  near 
the  entrance,  one  on  each  side,  supporting  the 
pillars,  with  odd  grimaces,  om  their  bent  shoul¬ 
ders.  They  are  horrible.  After  this  I  refused 
to  be  shown  anything  more.  I  would  be  taken 
to  the  tombs  of  the  Scaligeri,  and  there  left.  My 
firmness  saddened  my  driver,  but  he  had  noth¬ 
ing  with  which  to  reproach  himself,  even  though 
he  declared  that  there  was  much  more  to  be  seen. 
I  feel  sure  that  he  had  pointed  out  every  stone  of 
any  importance  that  we  had  passed,  and  we  parted 
amicably. 

These  tombs  of  the  Scaligeri  family  are  enclosed 
by  a  high  iron  railing,  and  are  on  a  corner  quite 
in  the  heart  of  the  town.  Upon  this  railing  or  grill 
are  the  family  arms,  a  ladder,  many  times  repro¬ 
duced.  The  tombs  are  Gothic  structures,  with 
twisted  columns,  beautifully  carved  chapters,  many 
statues,  and  altogether  elaborate.  Close  by  is  the 
Piazza  dei  Signori,  another  fascinating  square,  with 
the  old  city  buildings,  the  tribunal  and  the  prefec¬ 
ture,  once  castles  of  the  noble  Scaligeri  family. 
Then  on  a  third  side  is  the  loggia  once  the  seat  of 

[321  ] 


3n  <^lb  Verona 


the  city  government.  The  loggia  across  the  front 
from  which  the  building  takes  its  name  is  decorated 
with  statues  of  illustrious  Veronese,  and  on  either 
side  of  the  door  are  two  bronze  statues  representing 
the  Annunciation.  A  statue  of  Dante  stands  in 
the  centre  of  the  piazza.  Inside  a  doorway  of  one 
of  the  government  buildings  is  a  splendid  old  stair¬ 
case,  with  fine  arches  supporting  the  upper  stories 
around  the  court,  not  unlike  a  portion  of  the  old 
Bargello  in  Florence.  Then  there  are  old  archways 
beneath  which  are  passages  out  to  streets  beyond, 
connecting  this  piazza  with  the  Piazza  dell’  Erbe, 
and  everything  is  quaint  enough  to  keep  one  ab¬ 
sorbed  for  a  long  time. 

This  was  my  last  afternoon  in  Italy,  and  before 
me  was  the  prospect  of  a  train  from  Verona  at  half¬ 
past  four  the  next  morning,  the  only  one  which 
would  enable  me  to  go  over  the  Brenner  Pass  by 
daylight. 

At  half-past  three  that  next  morning  my  steam¬ 
ing  coffee  was  brought  to  my  room,  and  by  four 
o’clock  of  a  dark,  rainy  day,  a  sleepy  waiter  escorted 
me  to  the  stage  in  the  courtyard,  wished  me  a  pleas¬ 
ant  journey,  and  returned  to  the  hotel  hallway, 
brilliantly  illumined  by  a  single  candle,  and  we 
started  for  the  station.  The  greater  part  of  this 
station  was  quite  filled  with  sleeping  men,  stretched 
out  on  the  floor,  on  their  bundles,  anywhere.  The 
depository  for  luggage  was  filled  with  more  sleep¬ 
ing  forms,  on  top  of  trunks,  boxes,  even  the  wooden 

[  322  ] 


ant)  #oot)=t)j>e 


counter  over  which  hand  luggage  was  passed.  The 
waiting  room  for  first  and  second  class  passengers 
was  occupied  by  more  sleepers  of  slightly  higher 
social  grade.  Almost  all  the  leather  sofas  were  thus 
occupied,  but  the  guard  aroused  some  of  these  when 
the  first  train  was  signalled.  At  last  the  train  for 
Innsbruck,  long  and  crowded,  arrived.  At  Ala, 
the  frontier,  both  Italian  and  German  were  spoken, 
and  either  money  was  current,  so  one  scarcely  real¬ 
ized  that  Italy  was  left  behind,  even  when  one 
entered  the  train  composed  of  Austrian  coaches, 
with  Austrian  guards.  But  a  few  hours  later,  when 
a  stop  was  made  for  refreshments,  and  we  alighted, 
only  to  find  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  mak¬ 
ing  for  a  stand  where  beer  was  being  quickly  drawn 
and  distributed  to  outstretched  hands,  when  we  saw 
our  neighbours  on  every  side  rapidly  devouring 
raw  ham  which  they  clutched  in  great  slices  in  their 
hands,  only  when  we  heard  the  rough  language— 
and  how  rough  that  Bavarian  German  sounds  after 
the  soft,  musical  Italian ! — only  then  did  we  regret¬ 
fully  realize  that  fair  Italy,  her  gracious  people 
and  charming  courtesy  were  henceforth  to  be  but 
memories. 


THE  END. 


[  323  ] 


Illustrated  Books  of  Travel 


SUNNY  DAYS  IN  ITALY.  By  Elise  Lathrop,  author  of  “Where 
Shakespeare  Set  His  Stage.”  8vo,  cloth,  decorative  cover, 
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TO-DAY  IN  PALESTINE.  By  H.  W.  Dunning,  Ph.D.,  late 
Instructor  in  Semitic  Languages  in  Yale  University,  author  of 
“To-day  on  the  Nile.”  8vo,  cloth,  with  many  beautiful  illus¬ 
trations,  net  $2.50.  Three-quarter  levant,  net  $5.00.  (Post¬ 
age  20  cents.) 

TO-DAY  ON  THE  NILE.  By  H.  W.  Dunning,  Ph.D.  Photogra¬ 
vure  illustrations  and  maps.  8vo,  cloth,  net  $2.50.  Three- 
quarter  crushed  levant,  net  $5.00.  (Postage  20  cents.) 

THE  MEDITERRANEAN:  Its  Storied  Cities  and  Venerable 
Ruins.  By  J.  T.  Bonney  and  others.  Photogravure  illustra¬ 
tions  and  map.  8vo,  cloth,  $3.00.  Three-quarter  crushed 
levant,  $6.00. 


UNKNOWN  SWITZERLAND.  Picturesque  and  descriptive.  By 
Victor  Tissot.  Photogravure  illustrations  and  map.  8vo, 
cloth,  $3.00.  Three-quarter  crushed  levant,  $6.00. 

ALGIERS.  By  M.  Elizabeth  Crouse.  Beautifully  illustrated  with 
full-page  plates  from  original  photographs.  Cloth  decorative 
cover,  net  $2.00.  Three-quarter  crushed  levant,  net  $4.00. 
(Postage  14  cents.) 

NORWAY  AND  ITS  FIORDS.  By  M.  A.  Wyllie.  With  many  illus¬ 
trations,  of  which  16  are  in  color,  by  W.  L.  Wyllie,  A.E.A. 
Cloth,  net  $2.00.  Three-quarter  levant,  net  $4.00.  (Postage 
14  cents.) 

SCOTLAND  OF  TO-DAY.  By  T.  F.  Henderson  and  F.  Watt.  With 
many  illustrations  in  color,  by  Frederick  Laing.  Cloth,  net 
$2.00.  Three-quarter  levant,  net  $4.00.  (Postage  14  cents.) 


James  Pott  &  Co.,  New  York 


Illustrated  Books  of  Travel -c0«//w 


OUR  WEST  INDIAN  NEIGHBORS.  Tlie  Islands  of  the  Caribbean 
Sea,  “  America’s  Mediterranean.”  By  Frederick  A.  Ober.  50 
full-page  illustrations.  Net  $2.50.  Three-quarter  crushed 
levant,  net  $5.00.  (Postage  21  cents.) 

OLD  TOURAINE.  History  of  the  famous  Chateaux  of  France. 
By  Theodore  Andrea  Cooke.  30  photogravures.  2vols.,crown 
8vo,  cloth,  $5.00.  Three-quarter  crushed  levant,  $10.00. 

WHERE  SHAKESPEARE  SET  HIS  STAGE.  By  Elise  Lathrop. 

With  numerous  full-page  illustrations.  8vo,  cloth,  net  $2.00. 
Three-quarter  crushed  levant,  net  $4.00.  (Postage  14  cents.) 

THE  RUINED  ABBEYS  OF  GREAT  BRITAIN.  By  Ralph 
Adams  Cram.  With  67  full-page  illustrations  from  photo¬ 
graphs  by  the  author.  Cloth,  net  $2.50.  Three-quarter 
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THE  CATHEDRALS  AND  CHURCHES  OF  NORTHERN  ITALY. 

By  T.  Francis  Bumpus.  With  80  illustrations  in  color  and 
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net  $7.50.  (Postage  21  cents.) 

THE  CATHEDRALS  OF  ENGLAND  AND  WALES.  By  T.  Francis 
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Three-quarter  crushed  levant,  net  $12.00.  (Postage  30  cents.) 

THE  CATHEDRALS  AND  CHURCHES  OF  THE  RHINE  AND 
NORTH  GERMANY.  By  T.  Francis  Bumpus.  With  84  illus¬ 
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$4.00.  (Postage  15  cents.) 

BY  THE  WATERS  OF  SICILY.  By  Norma  Lorimer.  Large  illus¬ 
trated  edition.  8vo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

BY  THE  WATERS  OF  CARTHAGE.  By  Norma  Lorimer,  author 
of  “  By  the  Waters  of  Sicily.”  8vo,  cloth,  with  32  illustra¬ 
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(Postage  16  cents.) 

ENGLISH  VILLAGES.  By  P.  H.  Ditchfield,  M.A.  With  100  illus¬ 
trations.  12mo,  cloth,  net  $1.50.  (Postage  11  cents.) 


James  Pott  &  Co.,  New  York 


